The Insider
by Lyn1410G
Summary: Set pre-series. An investigation into the theft of Marine weapons leads Gibbs and Tony into a life and death struggle when the hunters become the hunted. CO-WRITTEN WITH LAINE3112
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:- **As excited as we were to dip our toes into another collaborative effort, we also had reservations about our ability to deliver a quality story. Although we are extremely like-minded, we have vastly different writing styles.

In true collaborative style, we settled on a compromise – a medium length story with lots of descriptive writing and plenty of dialogue. We are pleased to advise that no hair-pulling, pinching or Chinese burns took place during the writing of this story. We hope you enjoy it ~ Lyn and Laine.

The story is set pre-series when the team consisted of just Tony and Gibbs. For the purpose of this story, we have ignored initial canon in Yankee White where Gibbs and Fornell didn't know each other and have chosen to adhere to the amended canon where Gibbs and Fornell shared the same ex-wife and therefore had known each other _**prior**_ to Yankee White.

**Disclaimer:** We do not own the characters mentioned herein and any copyright infringement is unintentional.

**The Insider.**

**Chapter 1.**

The smooth strains of Kenny Chesney's latest hit crooned softly from the speakers, the driver, Corporal Jake Adams, humming discordantly along with the tune as the semi rolled through the night. Beside him, Lance Corporal Brad Henley rolled his eyes as he reached, trying for the third time, to spin the dial and select a more upbeat station.

"Hey, stop that!" Adams complained as he swatted the other man's hand. "I told you, if I'm driving, I choose the music."

"C'mon, man! How can you listen to that?" Henley asked in a disgusted tone.

"Well it beats that punk crap that you play back at the base," Adams taunted grinning widely. "Hey, how many punk-rock musicians does it take to change a light bulb?"

Henley smiled wanly, fully expecting his friend's disparaging remark about his taste in music. "Okay, how many?"

"Two, one to screw in the bulb and the other to smash the old one on his forehead."

"Oh, very droll," Henley stated. "You know, man, a few years back I wanted to be a country singer like your Kenny Chesney."

"Yeah?" Adams replied, his voice dripping in scepticism. "What changed your mind?" `

"I failed the entry exam…there wasn't nearly enough misery in my life and I had way too much self-esteem."

The two friends laughed and teased each other good naturedly as the semi continued to roll along the highway toward Jacksonville North Carolina. They'd already completed 5 hours of the trip and with just 40 minutes left until they reached Camp Lejeune, both men were keen to make their delivery and relax with a good meal and a cold beer.

As they rounded a bend, the powerful sweeping lights of the semi picked up two cars, parked at right angles and blocking the road ahead.

"What the..." Adams swore as he hit the brakes, fighting to keep control of the heavy vehicle.

Eighteen wheels screeched in protest as the semi trailer weaved dangerously once or twice then, with a loud hiss of brakes, shuddered to stop a few yards from the cars.

"Is it an accident?" Henley asked, automatically reaching for the M16 resting on the floor.

Adams peered through the windshield at the scene, noting the steam rising from the hood of one car, its doors flung wide as though the driver had gone for help.

"I don't know, man, but I'm not taking any chances." Grabbing the radio microphone, he called the armed escort vehicle behind and was instructed to remain inside the truck cab.

Three armed Marines leapt from the escort vehicle and slowly approached the two cars, turning in a circular motion and scanning the area for possible ambush. One Marine broke away and looked inside the first car, noting the missing driver and what looked like blood on the seat.

Moving quickly to the second vehicle, he found a man - seemingly unconscious - on the front seat and called for assistance as he felt for a pulse.

"Looks legit, man," Henley commented. "I'll go see if I can help out."

The Lance Corporal opened the passenger side door and started to climb down from the vehicle when all hell broke loose.

A deafening roar that caused a sickening inner ear disturbance followed a blinding flash almost instantaneously. The Marines were sent sprawling on the road, their hands half raised and their faces contorted in pain as a stun grenade exploded amongst them.

Confused and disoriented, the incapacitated men could only stare blindly, their mouths working soundlessly as they struggled to regain their equilibrium. Three heavily armed men in camouflage gear rushed onto the road and disarmed them, restraining their arms behind their backs.

In the cab of the semi, Corporal Adams was protected from the effects of the stun grenade and momentarily hidden from the attackers. He hunched below the console and once again, reached for the radio to call for emergency assistance. As he drew the microphone to his lips, the passenger door was dragged open.

Adams swung his weapon toward the opening as three ear-splitting shots reverberated in the enclosed cabin and searing pain exploded in his chest. His eyes widened in alarm and his weapon slipped harmlessly from his fingers. He placed his hand to his chest, unable to hold back the overwhelming panic as his blood gushed from the fatal wounds. His vision quickly faded and his breathing was reduced to shallow puffs of air. Adams' last thoughts were of his family as he tried to draw a final shuddering breath. The fear in his eyes diminished as he focussed on the ballad playing softly in the background and death quickly took him.

Leaving one man to cover the prone Marines, the man in charge rushed toward the semi and grabbed his other accomplice roughly by the shoulder.

"What the hell happened? I said no shooting!"

"He left me no choice," the accomplice replied. "It was him or me and he was about to radio for help."

"Is he dead?"

"If he's not, he soon will be."

"Find out, then bring our truck around back and help us unload. We're already behind schedule."

The four remaining Marines were hauled unceremoniously to their feet and dragged to the rear of the semi to lie face down as the doors were opened and two of the armed men climbed inside.

They quickly searched the rows of pallets, passing the stores of uniforms, complete USMC survival kits and training aids until they came to a stack of long rectangular crates marked as 'field kits' and pushed into a corner behind the other crates.

The leader raised his weapon and brought the butt down hard against the side panel of one of the crates, smashing and splintering the plywood and exposing the contents. Using his hands, he ripped at the wood until he was able to see more clearly. Inside the crate were dozens of M16A4 assault rifles. He moved to the next crate and repeated the process; it was filled with M4 carbine rifles and USMC Sam-R sniper rifles. The second man prised the lid off another crate that held over 200 Beretta M9 9mm pistols, all on their way to outfit the new recruits at Camp Lejeune.

He straightened up and smiled smugly at his partner, "This is what we came for. Go get the truck."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs pulled some loose change from his pocket to pay for the coffee then, with a barely perceptible nod at the young woman behind the counter, turned and headed back through the Navy Yard toward the NCIS headquarters building. This mornings team leader's meeting with NCIS Director Morrow did nothing but delay his investigation by another two hours and with every minute, his frustration level had raised exponentially.

He'd needed some coffee to clear his head and as he strode down the pavement, brew in hand; he allowed his mind to wander back over the events that had led to this place and time.

In the past three weeks, the transport of military weapons and stores had twice been ambushed as they were being shipped to various installations on the east coast. Each time, the ambush had been carried out by heavily armed men using stun grenades to over power the armed escort and always in a spot along the route, chosen specifically for its isolation.

After the first ambush, the escorting Marines had been left with no more than a few scrapes and bruises, an almighty headache from the stun grenades and injured pride at being overwhelmed in such a manner. However during the second ambush, the stakes had risen considerably when the driver of the semi, Corporal Jake Adams was shot and killed.

The raiders had known exactly what they were looking for – the majority of cargo on the transports being relatively undisturbed - and had no difficulty locating the weapons that had been cleverly concealed amongst general stores bound for the Base Exchange.

They had also chosen the only two transports to be carrying weapons and given the infrequency of the transports, it was too great a coincidence for it to be dumb luck.

Gibbs' gut had practically screamed 'inside job' and after investigating and clearing the escort personnel, they'd turned their attention to the logistics department at Quantico, it being the common denominator in both shipments.

He and his partner, Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, had interviewed the officers in charge but had found no reason to suspect their involvement in the ambushes.

The lack of any concrete leads resulted in their request of all financial and service records of every Supply Administration and Operations specialist based in the Logistics Department at Quantico. Gibbs was well aware that the sheer volume of paperwork could seriously bog down their investigation.

As he entered the bullpen, he expected to find his young partner deeply immersed in paperwork. He felt his blood pressure rise as he noted the service records piled high and untouched on the spare desk and his agent leaning casually against the far partition, smiling beguilingly at a pretty blonde from the secretarial pool.

"DiNozzo!"

It was the tone of the voice rather than the volume that caused the blonde secretary to scurry back to her own department but Tony's grin and nonchalant "hey, Boss" did nothing to quell Gibbs' rising bad temper.

"You finished reviewing those service records?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Finished? There's nearly fifty files there, it'd take me days to finish those files."

"How many have you done?"

"How many? Ah…about that, Boss, I was just about to start them when…"

"Just answer the damn question! How many files have you reviewed?" Gibbs asked, struggling to maintain his temper.

"None," Tony replied. "But I…"

Gibbs carded his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. He and DiNozzo had been working as a two-man team for months now and were both feeling the strain of being overworked and undermanned. But with the Pentagon applying pressure for a fast resolution to this case, it was the worst possible time for Tony to lose his focus.

The lead agent rounded Tony's desk and pulled out the chair.

"Sit," he ordered, not bothering to hide the depth of his anger and frustration.

Once Tony was seated, Gibbs walked to the spare desk and picked up a large number of files, placing them in front of the younger man with a resounding thud.

"You don't move, you don't eat, sleep or even think about where you're taking the blonde for dinner until those files are finished…are we clear?"

"Boss, if I…"

"Special Agent DiNozzo, are we clear?"

Gibbs noted the muscles flexing in his partner's jaw as his face took on a rare seriously pissed off expression.

"Crystal," he ground out between tightly clenched teeth and as Gibbs turned toward his own desk his agent spoke again. "Can I say something now?"

Gibbs nodded his head curtly.

"I had a hunch and ran the list of names through the DMV database, looking for any recently purchased vehicles. If I had suddenly come into some spare cash, that's what I'd spend it on. Anyway, I got three hits - two have Defence Force loans but the third guy…ah…PFC Jordan Roberts, has no record of a loan, inheritance or lottery win. He purchased a new SUV just a few days after the first raid on the weapons transport and according to the car dealer I spoke to, he paid cash. No way he pays cash for a car like that on an E-2 pay grade and with a wife and kid to support."

Gibbs released a long audible breath, reminding himself that it was DiNozzo's ability to think outside the box that often proved to be the difference between a solved case and a cold case.

"Call Quantico…get him in here for questioning," Gibbs replied.

"Already did, he's on his way."

Gibbs nodded brusquely and returned to his own desk, silently regretting his hasty reproof. He noted the slump of the younger man's shoulders as he lifted the files and returned them to the empty desk.

"Tony…" Gibbs said. "Good job."

The two partners held each other's gaze as a wordless apology was offered and accepted.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Special Agent Chris Pacci exited the elevator with a young man by his side and headed for the bullpen. Even if the younger man had not been wearing the service uniform, the ramrod straight posture and severe haircut screamed US Marine. His eyes darted nervously around the building as he trailed behind Pacci and stood at parade rest in front of Tony's desk.

"This is…." Pacci's words were silenced as DiNozzo momentarily held a finger in the air in a "just a moment" gesture.

Rolling his eyes impatiently, Pacci continued. "Hey, I went downstairs to sign in _your _visitor because you told me that you were at a crucial stage and needed a few more minutes."

A short melody sounded from the cell in Tony's hand, signifying the end of the game and he huffed his displeasure before meeting the other agent's gaze.

"I _was _at a crucial stage…I've never got past level seven on Tetris before," he sighed. "Looks like I'm not going to any time soon. Thanks for signing him in, Chris, I'll take it from here."

Pacci mumbled under his breath as he made his way back to his own desk and Tony casually appraised the young Marine. "Private First Class Jordan Roberts, I presume," he said.

"Yes, Sir, Special Agent Gibbs," the Marine replied briskly.

"Stand easy, Marine, you don't have to "Sir" me and you _really_ don't have to call me Special Agent Gibbs...that's my boss."

The Marine looked confused. "Excuse me, Sir, my orders were to meet with Special Agent Gibbs."

"Gibbs has been called away, he'll be back directly," Tony explained, rounding his desk and indicating for the Marine to walk with him. "Why don't we get a coffee while we wait? I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo…you can call me Tony."

They had been seated in the interrogation room for fifteen minutes as Roberts sipped his preferred water and frowned at the agent seated across the table. The tip of the man's tongue protruded from the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on his Tetris game and his animated exclamations grew louder as he neared the elusive level eight. Roberts waited until the muttered curse and melody sounded again, signalling another failed attempt then he shifted restlessly in his seat and cleared his throat.

"Will Agent Gibbs be long? I really need to be getting back to base."

"Chillax, Jordie…can I call you Jordie?" Tony asked, not waiting for a reply. "If there's one thing I've learned about Gibbs it's that he'll be here when you least expect him. In fact, often he's standing right behind me and I don't even know it until 'whack' he slaps me right in the back of the head." His eyes widened and his face took on a fearful expression. "Tell me he's not standing behind me."

Roberts' frown morphed into an irritated scowl. "No, Sir, no-one's standing behind you," he said, clearing his throat nervously again. "I don't really understand why I'm here, I've done nothing wrong! Aren't you even going to ask me any questions?"

"Me?" Tony asked with mock surprise and then laughed. "Oh no, Gibbs asks all the questions, not me. He's gotta real knack for it. Must be from all those years spent as a DI in the Corps. You know the type, right? I've seen him crack the hardest crims and leave 'em crying like babies. In fact, just last week, Gibbs was questioning this real hard-core special ops guy who we suspected of breaking and entering. By the time he'd finished, the guy had confessed to two murders we didn't even know about. Don't suppose you know anything about Tetris, this level is kicking my ass."

"Ah, no, Sir," Roberts replied quietly as he tried to keep pace with the changing topic of conversation. "Scuttlebutt at the base is that NCIS is investigating the whole Quantico Logistics team and will be questioning every Supply admin and operations specialist."

"See…that's why you never listen to scuttlebutt, Roberts, it can be very misleading."

"So, you're not investigating the Logistics team?"

"Oh, we're _definitely_ investigating the Logistics team but we're only questioning a random number of Supply admin and operations personnel," Tony replied, surreptitiously noting that the Marine's anxiety eased a little.

"Oh…so, how many will you be questioning?"

"Hmmm, let me check on that," Tony said. He opened the file on the desk and ran his finger down a list of names before looking back at the nervous Marine. "Let's see…there's forty-five personnel based in the Logistics department at Quantico, seven were on leave…that leaves thirty-eight. Of those thirty-eight we'll be questioning…oh yeah, that's right…just you."

"Just me?" Roberts said, paling noticeably.

"Hey, relax, Jordie, you have nothing to worry about," Tony said, flashing a bright grin. "Like you said, you haven't done anything wrong!"

Gibbs and NCIS Director, Tom Morrow, stood watching from the other side of the glass. Morrow shook his head as he watched DiNozzo at work, knowing that the affable and easy-going demeanour masked an intensely intuitive mind that, in it's own way, rivalled that of his lead agent and made them such a formidable team.

"He's got him rattled, that's my cue," Gibbs said, as he left the observation room and entered interrogation seconds later.

Thanks to DiNozzo's pre-amble, without too much effort, Gibbs convinced PFC Roberts to give up the details of his involvement in the operation, in exchange for a more lenient charge of aiding and abetting.

Plain and simple, Roberts had needed the money. His daughter was suffering from a chronic and partially debilitating illness and his E-2 salary and his medical benefits package barely covered the costs of expensive tests and specialist bills. The subsequent confinement it had forced upon his wife had placed an unbearable strain on his marriage. Roberts had used the cash to purchase a new vehicle, thinking that the increased mobility would alleviate his wife's stress and allow her some independence.

The young Marine had broken down and confessed to being persuaded, by a friend in his off- base basketball team, to provide the information. The friend, Morne' Botha, had asked Roberts if he wanted to earn some extra dollars and, after some initial hesitation and an assurance that no-one would be hurt, Roberts had agreed.

"It was only supposed to be one time," the Marine said with what looked like genuine remorse. "When they asked me to help them again, I said no but they made some veiled threats against my kid. I couldn't let them hurt her. I swear to you, Agent Gibbs, I never would have agreed if I thought someone would get killed."

Morne's father Jacques Botha ran a small trucking company in Maryland called Road Hog Transport and it was highly likely that the company was fronting something much more sinister. It was imperative that NCIS find out who was behind the raids and more importantly, they needed to know, if and to whom, the weapons were being sold.

One look at his agent and Gibbs knew they were on the same wavelength. They needed someone to get inside that trucking company to find out what was going on - Botha's son was the key and judging by the gleam in his young agent's eyes, Tony was volunteering for the job. With Abby's help they could provide Tony with a false ID – but they needed to enlist PFC Roberts' help with an introduction to Morne' Botha.

"Can't just show up at the depot," Gibbs said. "It's too obvious, they'll never go for it."

"What about the gym?" Tony suggested. "Roberts could introduce me as a friend from outta town and invite me to play some ball – I'll take it from there."

Roberts looked dubious. "I don't know, man, it may be a neighbourhood comp but we play fast and fierce with no quarter given. You wanna impress Morne' Botha, you're really gonna have to know your way around the court. Can you play?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes as Tony flashed his mega-watt grin in reply.

"Can I _play?" _Tony beamed. "Is the bear a Catholic? Does the Pope -"

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs interjected before the other man could finish the question. "Go see Abby about your ID."

The words barely out of his mouth before the young agent was out the door and sprinting for the forensic labs. Gibbs shook his head; nobody enjoyed undercover assignments like Anthony DiNozzo.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

"Sloan…Sloan," Tony said, stroking his imaginary beard as he mulled over Abby's suggestion for an alias. "I like it…simple yet strong. What about a first name?"

"How about Michael?" Abby proposed.

Tony screwed up his handsome face. "Michael…I never really thought I looked like a Michael."

"Are you kidding? You _totally_ look like a Michael!" Abby assured him. "You'd be Michael Sloan, an out of work storeman from Baltimore with quite an impressive rap sheet – even if I do say so myself."

"Whadya give me, Abs?"

"Prior arrests for possession of methamphetamines plus a DUI and a B & E thrown in for good measure," Abby said as she printed the fake drivers licence and admired her handiwork. "Just your average down on your luck sleaze-ball…"

"Sounds about right," Gibbs said entering the room and placing a Caf-Pow on Abby's desk. He plucked the licence from Abby's fingers, held it at an arms length and squinted to read the name. "Michael Sloan…he doesn't look like a Michael."

"That's what I said!" Tony agreed.

"Okay, guys…you're gonna have to trust me on this," Abby replied. She reached over to hold Tony's face in one hand, squeezing his cheeks and causing his lips to pucker. "When I see this adorable face, I think…Michael."

"Whatever floats your boat, Abs," Gibbs quipped, as he watched Tony flexing his jaw to restart the circulation in his face. "You get anything on Jacques Botha?"

"Walk this way my silver fox," Abby replied seductively as she playfully sashayed her way into the main room of the lab.

"Better not, Boss," Tony warned. "You walk that way and you're gonna hurt yourself real bad."

The wolfish smile that lit up Tony's features as he leered covetously at Abby was abruptly countered by a swift slap to the back of the head.

"Shoulda seen that coming," he muttered to himself.

Abby read from the screen of her computer. "Jacques Botha, South African-born businessman who, after arriving in the US in 1992, set up a small trucking company. IRS conducted a random audit in 2000 and reported all personal and company taxes were up to date. If he'd been involved in anything illicit, it's well hidden, he hasn't even had a traffic fine since he arrived…unlike his son, Morne' who was arrested for possession of a small amount of cocaine in 1999, fined $2000 and placed on a good behaviour bond."

"That's it?" Tony asked.

"That's it," Abby confirmed with an apologetic shrug. "I'm waiting to hear back from our Europe and Africa Field Office and Interpol."

"Let me know when you get something," Gibbs said, turning his attention back to Tony. "You know that during the game there'll be no wire, no back-up."

"It's a basketball game, Boss, what can go wrong?" Tony replied, uttering the phrase that always sent Gibbs' gut into a painful clench.

"There's a whole hell of a lot that can go wrong, DiNozzo, and you know it," Gibbs growled. "We know next to nothing about these people and if they even suspect you're an agent, they could kill you before anyone can get to you."

Tony and Abby exchanged a smile.

"Aw that's so sweet, Gibbs, you don't want Tony to get hurt!"

"Damn straight I don't want him getting hurt," Gibbs groused. "Every time he breaks a nail, I get stuck with the paperwork."

"Gee, Gibbs, I can't imagine why some people think you lack simpatico," Tony quipped.

"We can't rely on a game of basketball, we need a back-up plan," Gibbs said. "Something to get you 'in tight' with Botha."

"I was thinking about that, Boss," Tony replied. "Roberts said that after the game they all go to O'Connell's Bar for a few drinks. What if…"

"No!"

"You don't even know what I'm gonna say!"

"You're gonna suggest that we get Pacci and his pals to stage another bar fight like we did in the Kendall case," Gibbs stated.

"That was a good idea and it worked! Kendall totally accepted me as part of his team after that fight and we cracked that case wide open."

"You also cracked your head wide open!" Gibbs reminded his agent. "By the time we got you out, you needed 8 stitches and had a mild concussion."

"Okay…I admit that I zigged instead of zagged and Pacci really nailed me but he's apologised at least a dozen times. Besides, all that blood helped me cement my cover," Tony pleaded his case. "Come on, Gibbs, this could be our only way in…I promise if I see Pacci during the fight, I'll duck."

Thirty seconds that seemed like hours passed before Gibbs replied.

"Set it up with Pacci," he said. "Tell him if he screws the pooch on this one, the next blood spilled will be his."

"Yes!" Tony said, punching the air in anticipation of the undercover assignment - as he ran for the elevator Gibbs' call halted him mid-stride.

"DiNozzo! Watch your six."

"Al-ways," he replied before disappearing from sight.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

**Thanks for reading. We hope you enjoyed this first chapter!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** We are very grateful for the alerts and very encouraging reviews, (including those we were unable to reply to personally.) We hope you enjoy this chapter as we build the investigation and establish Tony's cover~ Lyn & Laine

**Disclaimer:** We do not own the characters mentioned herein and any copyright infringement is unintentional.

**The Insider**

**Chapter Two**

The morning before the basketball game, Tony met with PFC Roberts to go over their cover story, reaffirming Tony's ID as Michael Sloan, currently unemployed storeman and Roberts' former basketball team-mate from Baltimore.

Roberts had already spoken with Morne' Botha and mentioned that Sloan had come to Washington looking for work and as their basketball team was short-handed, Roberts had invited him to join him for tomorrow night's game.

"I know you're an experienced player," Roberts said. "But we're playing the Brentwood Bullets tomorrow. Believe me, they could make a team of drill sergeants cry."

"Brentwood Bullets?" Tony repeated. "What's the name of our team?"

"The Michigan Park Marauders. We play at nineteen hundred, on court three at Vinnie's Indoor Sports on 6th Street NE. You know it?"

"Yeah, I know it."

"Just remember, the Bullets talk tough and they're huge…they use their size to intimidate and dominate their opponents. They're undefeated in the comp and handed us our asses last time we played them."

"Relax…I can handle it," Tony said.

"I'm just saying," Roberts continued. "As point guard, these guys are gonna target you. We'll give you as much cover as we can, Sir, but don't expect the ref to keep things clean. In this comp the refs are there mainly to keep score and handle the jump balls."

"Roberts…I'll worry about my game but you slip up and call me 'sir' - just once - and this thing's over for both of us. You don't think you can handle this, now is the time to say so."

"I'll handle it, Si-"

Tony winced as the young Marine slipped up again.

"I'll handle it," Roberts corrected with conviction.

"Good," Tony replied, placing a ten dollar bill with the check and getting ready to leave. "Go home and hug your wife and kid. See you at the game tonight."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Later that afternoon, Gibbs strode quickly into the lab to find Abby working at her computer.

"Ya get anything from Interpol and our Naples office about Jacques Botha?" he asked.

"And good afternoon to you, too, Gibbs?" she teased. "Hey, no Caf-Pow?"

"Depends on what you got for me."

"Do I look like the type of girl who can be bought? Don't answer that," she grinned before getting down to business. "Neither Interpol or our Europe and Africa field office have anything on Jacques or Morne' Botha. I even ran the names through various South African national intelligence agencies. Nothing!"

"Most South African agencies weren't formed until 1994 after the democratic elections," Gibbs explained. "A lot of intel prior to that was lost."

"I know but I should have got a hit when I ran them through US Immigration…I mean…unless they were, like, beamed into the country by the US Enterprise."

"The aircraft carrier?"

"No, Gibbs, the starship…you know, Captain Kirk, Mr Spock, beam me up, Scotty?"

Gibbs shrugged.

"Geez, Gibbs, were you born forty years old? Never mind. The Botha's had to go through Immigration somewhere, right? I got nothing! Nix, nada, niente, zip, zero, zot, zilch…"

"Abs?"

"Sorry, but this case has got me as frustrated as a hooker at a party full of eunuchs," Abby continued. "The Botha's can't be illegal immigrants because their social security numbers are legit, the IRS found no anomalies with their taxes and when Morne' Botha was arrested in 1999, Metro PD would have checked his residency status. I don't get it!"

"Sounds like they were relocated here by one of the alphabets. NSA? CIA? Take your pick," Gibbs suggested.

"Here's an idea! What if you contact the CIA and ask if they have a file on the Botha's? Then ask them to allow us access in the spirit of interagency co-operation!" Abby suggested with more than a modicum of sarcasm.

"Doesn't work that way."

"Yeah…I know," Abby sighed. "The CIA doesn't share or play well with others."

"You okay, Abs?"

"I'm worried about Tony going undercover," she admitted. "I wanted to give you more information on the Botha's so we knew what he was getting into."

"He's a grown man and an experienced undercover operative. He can take care of himself."

"I know…but I still worry."

"That's why we love you," he whispered before placing a soft kiss on her cheek and leaving the lab.

Touching her fingers to her cheek, Abby smiled.

"Can't get that from Caf-Pow!"

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Keen to rid himself of the nervous excitement that he felt whenever he went undercover, Tony arrived at the indoor sport centre an hour before the scheduled start of play. He walked toward the bleachers at the back of the large complex, looking for court three. Games were still in progress on courts one and two but court three was currently vacant.

He scanned the throng of players and spectators for PFC Roberts but didn't see him. Finding a seat on the front row of the bleachers, he shrugged out of his jacket and completed a series of warm-up stretches. He unzipped his sports bag, removed his basketball and dribbled it to the far end of the court at a slow jog before honing his lay-ups and jump shots.

"Nice basket," the voice sounded close behind him as Tony swished a three-pointer from the top of the key.

Turning quickly, Tony found himself staring into the chest of the speaker and tilted his head back slowly until he looked up into the smiling face. The man stood closer to seven feet tall than six and outweighed Tony by close to forty pounds.

"Mind if we join you?" the man asked. "We've got a game here in a while and we'd like to warm up."

Tony looked around the huge man and saw several other men walking toward them, each one standing six and a half feet and then some. Tony recalled Roberts telling him that their opposing team was huge and intimidating…the young Marine's assessment was spot on.

"You guys must be the Bullets," Tony replied extending his hand. "I'm Michael Sloan, I'm playing with the Marauders today."

He tried not to flinch as his hand was completely engulfed by the huge right mitt of the Bullets' captain, Ty Stewart, as the man grasped his hand in a firm shake and introduced himself.

"You got a minimum height rule?" Tony remarked jovially.

"No-one under six and a half feet," Stewart replied with a smile. "Anyone shorter than that has their brains too close to their ass. No offence."

"None taken," Tony laughed with the instantly likeable giant.

The other players gathered around and despite his six foot two inch and 180-pound stature, Tony suddenly felt decidedly puny.

"You play centre?" he asked Richards hopefully.

"No, man. I play point guard."

Tony's smile froze in place as he realised he'd just met his opposite number. '_Great,_' he thought. _'The boss is counting on me to impress Morne' Botha and I'm guarding a guy who makes Shaquille O'Neal look like Steve Urkel.'_

The Bullets included Tony in a few practice drills and some three on three, sharing in some friendly banter and casual joking.

"Hey, Mike!" Tony turned toward the bleachers where PFC Roberts waved his hand and smiled. "You decide to swap teams? Get your ass over here!"

Saying a quick thanks to the Bullets, Tony jogged over to where Roberts stood with Morne' Botha and three other men. Keeping up appearances they slapped each other on the back enthusiastically before stepping back as Roberts introduced his friend Michael Sloan to the other members of his team.

"You know those guys?" Botha asked, pointing with his chin toward the Brentwood Bullets as they continued their warm up at the far end of the court.

"Met them about thirty minutes ago," Tony replied. "They seem like a good bunch of guys."

He watched as the other men nudged each other and laughed.

"Did I miss something?" he asked.

"Guess you'll find out soon enough," Botha replied, eyeing the newcomer suspiciously. "The minute you step on court, those guys will come at you like you knocked up their sisters and bad-mouthed their mothers."

"Or vice versa," the very tall, redheaded Callaghan said.

Tony smiled, not quite sure whether he was the brunt of some private joke.

The men discarded their sweats and pulled on the red Marauders jerseys as they discussed their positions for today's game; Tony, (point guard,) Roberts, (shooting guard,) Botha, (small forward,) Price, (power forward,) Callaghan (centre,) and Benton (utility sub.)

They had just enough time for some quick warm-up drills when the ref blew the whistle and called for the tip off.

As the players took the court, Tony extended a hand to his opposite in a quick gesture of sportsmanship, only to withdraw it as if scalded when he caught the cold, ascetic look in the large man's eyes.

"Hope you kissed your mama at the bus stop, fairy floss…'cause I'm takin' you to school!" Stewart growled.

Tony was as competitive as they come but he could scarcely believe the transformation from the likeable man he'd met less than an hour before. He quickly turned to see PFC Roberts give him an 'I told you so' shrug from across the court.

Callaghan entered the jump circle to contest the tip off for the Marauders. Tony noticed that their tallest player was still several inches shorter and twenty pounds lighter than the Bullets smallest man.

Gaining possession from the tip off, the Bullets came out of the first quarter gate at full throttle, using their size to out-hustle and out-muscle the smaller Marauders team and racing to a 16-0 lead in the first five minutes of play. Their superior height kept the ball away from the Marauders' desperately grasping hands, virtually starving them of possession and out-rebounding them at both ends of the court.

Playing to their usual game plan the Bullets effectively shut the Marauders out of the game with an aggressive and smothering defence. Turnovers and steals became commonplace for the Marauders as Tony struggled to create scoring opportunities for his team.

His frustration levels increased to the delight of his primary defender, Ty Stewart whose attempts to keep the Marauders' point guard off his game with arrogant trash talk were coming up trumps. "Hey short stuff, the pee wee league wants you back," and "when I'm done with you, I'm gonna have to roll over and light a cigarette," seemed to be favourites in Stewart's verbal arsenal.

At the end of the first period, the Bullets had opened up a lead of 28-6 and the Marauders were looking at another pasting.

Early in the second quarter, the Bullets increased their lead to 43-12. Throughout the game, Ty Stewart continued to goad Tony with his loud-mouthed, over the top, trash talk but, although irritated, Tony chose not respond and kept his mind on the game. Midway through the period, he felt a slight change in the tempo of the game.

As he took the inbounds passes and brought the ball back down court, he realised his teammates were making more breaks on the defence and although their rebound percentages were still poor, they were beginning to nail their long and midrange goal attempts.

Sensing an opportunity, Tony's game lifted immediately. His court vision kicked into gear resulting in several successful blind passes, two great leads for his receivers that left defenders floundering angrily and had the Bullets calling a time-out. As they huddled just off court, they realised a change in tactic was required.

Immediately after the resumption of play and with the lead narrowed to 45-19, the Bullets renewed their focus on shutting down the point guard – whatever it took. With three minutes remaining before the half time interval, the deceptively fast Ty Stewart took an inbounds pass and powered down court. Reading the play, Tony planted both feet firmly on the floor, watching his opposite bear down on him like a charging rhino. He was taken completely by surprise when Stewart threw a huge forearm that struck him a sickening blow to the face and had him crashing to the ground with blood streaming from his nose.

Dazed, bloodied and lying supine on the court, Tony was momentarily forgotten as his angry teammates pushed and shoved their opposite numbers in protest of the flagrant foul and called for Stewart's immediate expulsion. The ref moved quickly to prevent any flare-ups but bowed to intimidation from the extremely large Brentwood Bullets team and ruled a personal foul for charging. Tony was assisted to the bleachers where he watched the remaining few minutes of the second period while attending to his bleeding nose. The score remained 45-19 when the half-time break came moments later.

Holding a bloodied towel to his face and walking on legs that felt like wet noodles, Tony joined his teammates on the sideline.

"Are you okay, man?" Roberts asked. "Maybe you should sit out the rest of the game?"

"I'm fine," Tony lied. "Besides, I just figured out how we're gonna win this game."

"We're down 26 points _and_ our point guard," Botha replied sceptically. "You sure you didn't fall on your head?"

"Positive," Tony said. "They put on 17 points in that quarter but we put on 12 and the momentum was swinging our way. They're tiring and their defence is getting sloppy."

"What do you want to do?" asked Callaghan.

"We run 'em off their feet and freeze 'em out," he replied with a cocky grin before outlining his game plan to the other team members. "I watched them in those last few minutes – they're starting to walk, they're sucking in the big ones and they're not double-teaming in defence like they were. That opens up more opportunities for us in offence. They may be bigger but we're faster and we've got more gas left in the tank. We play a keepaway game for the first half of the third period. Starve them of possession and make them run their asses off. No lofted passes, keep them sharp and low. They're hammering us in rebounds at both ends so no low percentage shots. You take a shot, it better stick 'cause you're not gonna get a second chance. They're gonna try to muscle us off the court so you better be prepared for things to get rough out there. Any questions?"

"Yeah," Benton said. "Are you up to this? That was quite a hit."

"He's right," Roberts agreed. "Take a few more minutes at least, we'll hold them off until you're ready to come back on."

Tony reluctantly agreed, making his way back to his seat in the bleachers as the referee signalled for the teams to take the court for the third quarter.

The Marauders played to their game plan, running hard and forcing the pace of the game. As Tony predicted, the Bullets responded to their lack of possession by muscling up and accumulating more fouls than points in the first seven minutes. The score was 51-33 when Tony returned to the court and was immediately harassed by the very loud and very mouthy Ty Stewart.

"Hey, powder puff!" Stewart said, moving his considerable bulk in close to prevent Tony's advancement. "I thought you'd be half way home to your Momma by now."

Not taking a backward step, Tony gave him a wan smile. "We know you can talk like Dennis Rodman, let's see you defend like him."

Feinting to his left, Tony made a fast break to the right, wrong footing the large man and evading another defender before passing to Botha further down court. He pumped a fist into the air as Botha buried a corner three–pointer. While the play lifted their Marauders teammates, the Bullets countered the renewed vigour of their opponents with aggression and hostility. At the end of the third period, the Bullets still led by 58-49 but the margin had dwindled.

With momentum swinging back to the Marauders, the opening minutes of the final period were gruelling and physical. As the Marauders playmaker, the Bullets threw everything they had at Tony in an effort to slow the pace of the game and regain control. An away-from-the-play hip-check sent Tony sprawling to land heavily on the point of his shoulder but not before he had torn through the defence to set-up Roberts for a midrange jumper that wrestled the lead from the Bullets.

The rest of the game was a bruising encounter but, in a hard fought victory, the Marauders led 77-64 at the final buzzer.

Tony and his teammates gathered in a mid-court huddle, backslapping and whooping with delight. When a large hand firmly grasped Tony's shoulder and spun him around none-too-gently, he found himself staring up into the unreadable face of Ty Stewart.

"You played a great game, man! We could use a player like you on our team," the Bullets' captain told him as his face broke into a huge smile. "If only you weren't so damn short!"

Tony shook his head at the Jeckyl and Hyde persona as he watched the large man walk toward the exit. A call from PFC Roberts dragged him from his musings.

"Hey, Michael, we're heading to O'Connell's. We're gonna celebrate with a steak and a few beers. You coming?"

"You buying?" Tony asked.

"Absolutely!" the young Marine grinned back.

"Then I'm coming!" Tony replied as he shouldered his gym bag and followed them from the building.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

The screech of braking tyres echoed in the underground resident's parking area as Gibbs brought the sedan to a rapid halt and leapt from the car. His gut tightened painfully as he realised Tony's car was not in its assigned spot. He checked his watch again – zero three-thirty. _'Where the hell is he and why isn't he answering his damn cell!' _

He took the elevator and exited on the sixth level, lengthening his stride as he approached the door to Tony's apartment. His heart skipped a beat when he found the door slightly ajar and the keys still hanging in the lock. Without conscious thought, his Sig Sauer was in his hand and the safety released as he cautiously entered the apartment.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed the usually orderly apartment in disarray. A table lamp had been knocked from the sideboard and an end table was upturned with the remnants of cold coffee staining the rug. Moving stealthily, he scanned the rest of the apartment for intruders and moved toward the master bedroom

He thought of his earlier warning to his young partner and chafed inwardly that he had not followed his instincts and provided backup. Taking a calming breath, he silently opened the bedroom door and mouthed a silent curse as he recognised the prone body of his agent.

Gibbs made a preliminary assessment, relieved not to see any blood or other signs of obvious injury. Fully clothed, with his head at an awkward angle and his left arm and leg dangling from the mattress; the younger man lay where he had obviously fallen.

Re-holstering his sidearm, the former Marine leaned forward, extending an arm toward his agent. He took a fast step back as the young man twisted quickly, pressing the muzzle of his own weapon into Gibbs' ribs with a menacing "don't even think about it."

"Stand down, DiNozzo, it's me," Gibbs said, silently applauding his agent's spatial awareness.

"Boss?" Tony asked as he squinted into the darkness and lowered his gun. "What are you doing here? What time is it?"

Overwhelming relief was outwrestled by anger and Gibbs' raised voice reverberated around the apartment and intensified the jackhammer that had taken up residence in Tony's brain.

"What do you think I'm doing here? I'm looking for you, Bonehead! If you answered your damn cell you'd know that!"

"What are you talking about? I had my cell with me all night. No one called," Tony slurred, still half asleep.

"_I_ called you – several times."

Tony groped for his cell in the darkness and shrugged apologetically.

"Must've left it in my gym bag but I would have heard it ring," he offered.

"Well you obviously didn't, DiNozzo, or I wouldn't be standing in your apartment at zero three forty-five checking to see if you're still alive. Rule number three! Never be unreachable!"

"All due respects, Boss," Tony said with a grimace. "Any chance you can ball me out quietly. I gotta a killer headache here."

Stumbling blindly toward the door to retrieve his gym bag, he tripped over something in his path.

"Found it," he said meekly, swinging the bag onto the bed and almost losing his balance.

Gibbs switched on the bedside lamp drawing a groan from Tony as the sudden brightness drove his headache up a few notches.

"Are you hung over?"

"What? Of course not!" Tony protested. "However, it is entirely possible that I'm still drunk."

As the younger man fumbled through the bag in search of the errant cell, Gibbs ran a practised eye over his agent.

The bed hair and dishevelled, slept in clothing, reeked of smoke and alcohol and the bleary green eyes reflected an evening spent drinking to excess. But the stilted movement from aching, stiffened muscles and the blossoming bruise on his cheekbone were cause for additional concern.

Taking hold of the younger man's chin, Gibbs looked at the bruise and asked sharply.

"What happened?"

"It's nothing, Boss. It happened during the fight in the bar but you'll be happy to know that it wasn't Pacci this time. Come to think of it, I didn't even see Pacci!" Tony stated.

"Yeah, about that…"

"I don't know where Pacci gets these guys, they were huge! The one I jumped when he pulled that fake knife on Botha…if I didn't know any better, I'd have thought it was the real deal."

"Tony…"

"Naturally as a highly trained federal agent, skilled in hand to hand combat, I had to pull my punches…I mean, I didn't wanna anyone to get hurt, right?"

"DiNozzo…"

"They won't be able to show their faces at O'Connell's for awhile though. They really busted up the place! Aha!" Tony exclaimed, holding the cell triumphantly. His smile faded as he noticed it was switched off. "Sorry, Gibbs, it must've happened when I threw it in my bag. What were you calling for?"

"Pacci called. Said you guys didn't show up at the bar."

Tony frowned. "But…we did."

"There was a mix-up. Turns out, he and his guys went to O'Donnell's on 5th instead of O'Connell's on 6th."

Tony's frown morphed into a look of sickening realisation.

"So the guys we fought were…"

"Not Pacci's guys."

"And the fight was…"

"Not staged."

"And the knife was…"

"The real deal…" Gibbs answered, trying but failing to hold back a grin at the younger man's horrified expression.

"That's not funny, Gibbs! I could have been killed!"

"Not you, DiNozzo, you're a highly trained federal agent, skilled in hand to hand combat."

"But those guys were big, Boss. Big, big, big, big."

"Come on," Gibbs said, steering the younger man toward the kitchen. "Let's get you sober and you can tell me what happened."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Thanks for reading – there's lots of drama and action to come.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N **Not exactly a Christmas miracle but we actually found time to put our heads together and finish this chapter ahead of schedule. We hope you enjoy it. Lyn & Laine.

**Disclaimer:** We do not own the characters mentioned herein and any copyright infringement is unintentional.

**The Insider**

**Chapter Three**

Gibbs tossed the last mouthful of luke-warm coffee down his throat and crushed the empty Styrofoam cup in one hand. Leaning forward, he peered at the clock on the dash and rubbed his eyes when the digital display revealed only a blurred red glow. He adjusted his earpiece to fit more comfortably and tried not to die of boredom as he listened to the mind-numbing routine of life in a despatch warehouse.

If someone had told him last week that he'd be grateful for DiNozzo's complete inability to shut the hell up, he'd have thought them mad. Who'd have known that just days later he'd be sitting in a car, providing back up for his undercover partner and secretly hanging out for one of the younger agents' wise ass comments to break the monotony.

The fact that they had been able to get DiNozzo on the inside of Jacques Botha's trucking depot had been as much good luck as good management. A wry smile softened his features as he recalled the mortified look on his agent's face three nights ago when he realised that the bar fight at O'Connell's had not been staged by Agent Pacci and his friends. Where the hell did Pacci find those guys anyway – listed in the phone book under "Hire-a-Thug?"

It came as no surprise when his agent revealed that, in order to maintain his cover, he had matched Morne' Botha beer for beer and shot for shot until the very early hours of the morning.

The fact that he had successfully completed his assignment, bested a knife-wielding troublemaker, had taken a cab home and had met Gibbs' silent entry to his apartment with the muzzle of his Sig Sauer, confirmed the lead agent's belief that his partner would never jeopardise himself and an assignment for the sake of sinking a few with the boys.

Despite appearances, Tony knew his limitations and although he'd have certainly failed a breathalyser, the younger man very definitely still had his wits about him and had never lost sight of what was at stake. That is, until he'd reached the safety of his apartment. Gibbs knew from experience that the release of tension mixed with adrenalin, exhaustion and alcohol would have conspired to rob the younger man of any remnants of sobriety the moment he felt safe.

He had ordered his intoxicated agent to hit the shower before he forced some food, aspirin and black coffee into him. His patience was sorely tested when he was regaled, in great detail, with a play-by-play commentary of the younger man's "Jordan-esque" starring role in a hard fought basketball game. After an over-exuberant action replay of a power drive to the basket resulted in the destruction of a table lamp and saw the younger man dissolve in a fit of uncharacteristic giggles, Gibbs ordered his _still_ intoxicated agent for another shower and forced more black coffee into him.

It was almost an hour later when a squeaky clean, over-caffeinated DiNozzo finally imparted details more pertinent to the investigation than the damn basketball game and the former Marine watched as inebriation slowly metamorphosed into sobriety and the dawn of a super-sized hangover.

It was DiNozzo's deft deflection of a knife-wielding attacker that won him Botha's gratitude at the bar three nights ago. Botha had stepped away from the others to make a few calls and returned fifteen minutes later, offering Tony another beer and a temporary job at the depot.

Botha had mentioned that his father was on a business trip for several days and he was short handed at the warehouse. Tony accepted a position as a storeman, loading and unloading freight onto the semis. Equipped with a wire and a well-hidden micro-camera, Tony, aka Michael Sloan, reported for work the day before yesterday at the depot of Road Hog Transport.

The first two days had been a lesson in frustration. Morne' Botha had rarely ventured from the office either day and Tony had been unable to place a listening device or get a look at the logbooks and shipping records of the company. He had managed to photograph many of the drivers and other storemen for Abby to run facial recognitions and background checks – a task made that much harder without knowing their names.

Late on the second afternoon, a small, moustachioed man in his late 50's had arrived at the depot and been ushered quickly into the office by Botha. The man reminded Tony of his eighth grade science teacher – nerdy and timid and obviously very anxious about something. Despite his harmless appearance, Tony managed to get a photo, knowing all too well that sometimes those who looked least likely were the most dangerous.

Gibbs sighed audibly as he settled in for a third day of mind-numbing boredom. The shrill of his cell was a welcome interruption from the tedium.

"Ya got something, Abs?" he asked noting her name on the caller ID.

"A headache and a desperate need for Caf-Pow," Abby replied.

"You gotta match on those photos Tony gave you last night?"

"A big fat zero, Gibbs," the forensic specialist replied exasperatedly. "I'm running the facial recognitions on the photos in the order Tony took them but I need names to run the background checks. It's a painfully slow process but so far, everyone comes up squeaky clean!"

"Everyone?"

"Everyone. If Botha is using his transport company as a front to deal in black-market weapons, I don't think his drivers or storemen are involved."

"Any have military backgrounds?"

"No but I still have another eight people identify."

"Tony's in there alone, Abs. I need that intel now."

"This isn't some fictional, TV crime procedural you know, facial recognitions take time! You want fast – get me a list of names!" she scolded before taking a breath and adding timidly. "Sorry, Gibbs, Caf-Pow withdrawal makes me a little cranky. How's Tony?"

"He's fine. Whining about blisters on his hands, his aching back and a damn torn cuticle!"

"Poor baby! He always says that DiNozzo's weren't meant for manual labour," she replied sympathetically. "He told me that some people are like pick-ups - built for hard physical work but DiNozzo's are like Ferraris – built for speed and nice to look at."

"He told me that, too - at least thirty times since he started this assignment," Gibbs said with a roll of his eyes. "Gonna need the rest of those backgrounds as fast as you can, Abs."

"I'm on it, Gibbs but I definitely need more Caf-Pow - there's _way_ too much blood circulating in my caffeine."

"You check your lab fridge?"

Abby cocked her head quizzically and turned to her large refrigeration unit. Her green eyes lit up when she noticed the row of nicely chilled Caf-Pows.

"I don't know how or when you did that, Gibbs, but I'm sure glad you did! Gibbs? Gibbs?" she said, before realising that she was speaking to dead air. "I hate it when he does that!"

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

For all intents and purposes, Botha was running a legitimate trucking company. He paid his taxes and surrounded himself with hard-working drivers and storemen – but Gibbs' gut was making itself known loud and clear and his frustration at coming up empty handed was almost unbearable. They had PFC Roberts' statement and enough to issue a warrant to bring Jacques Botha in for questioning. But there was more at stake here and Gibbs needed to know who was buying the stolen weapons and for what purpose.

Two days of the undercover assignment had produced nothing but more questions. He had earlier considered pulling Tony out of there but the younger man had asked for more time, convinced that he could find something that would be useful. Gibbs had grudgingly agreed to two more days, after which they would look for another angle.

"Boss?" Tony's voice crackled slightly as it came through the earpiece, startling Gibbs out of his reverie. "I'm coming out. See you in five.''

Gibbs checked his watch and frowned as he straightened in his seat and started the motor. It was only zero six thirty - had he missed something while he'd been talking to Abby? Spotting the younger agent as he rounded the corner, he leant over and pushed the door open for him to climb inside.

"Thanks, Boss," Tony said sniffing the air expectantly then frowning. "No food? I thought for sure you'd have picked up some pancakes or a couple of breakfast burritos."

"Whaddya got, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked impatiently.

"I got canned. The old man cut short his business trip and turned up unexpectedly. He told Morne' to pay me for my time and show me the door," Tony screwed up his face as he pulled a small fold of bills from his pocket. "A hundred and ten bucks, not even worth the blisters."

"Damn it!" Gibbs cursed.

"I know, but don't worry, Boss, they're painful but with a little antiseptic cream, they'll be gone in no time," Tony said, hissing as Gibbs' hand made contact with the back of his head.

"Forget your damn blisters, DiNozzo, we just lost our best chance of finding a lead in this case."

"Maybe not," Tony said with a confident flash of his green eyes.

"You got something?"

"I got a face. Not sure whose face it is yet but I've definitely seen it before," he explained. "I was just finishing up and was ready to leave when I spotted Jacques Botha talking to a guy at the back entrance. I couldn't hear what they were saying but Botha didn't look happy to see him and kept looking around to see if anyone was watching. They were definitely arguing over something and it got pretty heated."

"Did you get a photo?"

"No chance, but I got a real good look at the other guy – he was real mean looking. I've seen him, Gibbs, I'm sure of it," Tony said. "There's been just two visitors to the depot in the last two days, the nerdy guy from yesterday and the mean-looking guy. A regular odd couple… like Matthau and Lemmon…that's the movie version, not the sitcom."

The younger man pursed his lips thoughtfully.

"DiNozzo?" Gibbs prompted.

"I never really thought of it before but I suppose some people would consider us as kind of an odd couple. You know, me dishevelled, you high and tight; me flaky, you solid citizen; I drive a Mustang classic, you drive a truck; I wear Zegna, you wear Sears…not that there's anything wrong with Sears, Boss…it looks good on you!"

"If you don't stay focussed I'll give you another comparison."

"What?"

"Me, federal agent, you, unemployed," Gibbs replied gruffly.

Tony grimaced. "Gotcha, Boss…anyway, my gut may not be as finely honed as yours but right now it's telling me that whatever's going on with the Botha's – Oscar and Felix have got something to do with it."

Gibbs pressed the gas pedal a little harder, sending the Dodge hurtling faster through the early morning traffic. "We'll head back to the yard. You can work on a composite with Abby while I brief the director."

"I don't suppose we could stop for breakfast? I haven't eaten this morning."

"Should've got up earlier."

"Earlier? I started work at zero five hundred!" Tony protested to the accompaniment of his growling stomach. "Come on, Gibbs, I'm starvin' like Lee Marvin!"

"When I get a name to match that face, DiNozzo, you can eat."

With his left hand on the wheel, Gibbs stuck his right hand in front of his agent, palm up.

"Boss?"

"Hand it over," Gibbs instructed. "You know as well as I do that all money earned while undercover has to be turned in."

With a loud huff of disapproval, Tony removed the money from his pocket and slapped it into Gibbs' outstretched hand.

"I had plans for that, Boss," he muttered.

"Date with the blonde?"

"No. Date with my chiropractor," he said as he sat back dejectedly with what looked decidedly like a thinly disguised pout.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Tony entered the cavernous lab and spied Abby seated at her computer station beyond the sliding glass door. He removed a Caf-Pow from the refrigeration unit and placed it on her desk.

"What's new, pussy cat? You miss me?"

"I always miss you, Tony," she replied. "Where's Gibbs?"

"He's with the director. He sent me ahead to work on the identikit."

Linking her foot around the legs of a nearby stool, she dragged it beside her.

"Sit," she said making room for him at her desk where she had already set up the program on her computer.

"Abs, you get an ID on the nerdy guy from yesterday?" he asked.

"He was way at the bottom of my list so I only started to run the facial recognition when you called. My babies will let us know when they have something. Now, let's put that famous DiNozzo recall to the test," she grinned as they started work on the facial composite.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

It was almost an hour later by the time Gibbs had briefed the director and completed a coffee run. As he started to enter the lab a loud groan stopped him in his tracks.

"Oh, Abs, that's fantastic. Anyone ever tell you that you can work magic with your hands?"

"I bet you say that to all the girls. Oh, Tony, you're so stiff, I really think you'd enjoy this more if you were lying down."

"What? And take a chance that Gibbs walks in on us. Believe me, I'd rather…oh!" his voice rose a couple of octaves as he exclaimed. "There! Right there! Harder, Abby, harder, oh God yeah!"

Gibbs rolled his eyes. He knew that, after a slow start, his partner and his forensic scientist had forged a close friendship but he knew them too well to suspect anything more was going on between them other than harmless flirtation. DiNozzo had been with him long enough to know rule number twelve…hadn't he?

A quick peek around the corner confirmed his suspicions. With his shirt unbuttoned to expose his broad shoulders and his upper back, DiNozzo was seated while Abby stood behind him massaging the aching muscles in his neck and back.

"I know that rank has it's privileges, Abs, but next time we have an assignment, I hope that Gibbs gets to haul heavy crates around all day while I sit on my ass sipping coffee."

"That right, DiNozzo?"

At the sound of Gibbs' voice Tony sprung to his feet like he was shot out of a canon.

"Boss!" he laughed nervously as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. "What I meant to say was while I sit sipping coffee and doing all those other very important things that only someone of your expertise and years of experience as a federal agent can do."

"Nice save, _now do up your damned shirt!"_ Gibbs snapped as he slid a small box of fresh bagels and donuts onto the desk in front of them.

Tony opened the lid and inhaled the tantalising aroma of freshly baked goods.

"I really love you, Boss."

"Whatcha got, Abs?" Gibbs asked, ignoring his agent's declaration of love and helping himself to a bagel.

"We've got a match on Tony's facial composite!" Abby grinned. "He's really good at recalling and reconstructing facial features."

"He's a crime scene investigator, Abs," Gibbs stated. "He's supposed to be good at this stuff."

"Plus," Tony added, reaching for a jelly donut. "I grew up in the era of Mr Potato Head."

"I _loved _Mr Potato Head!" Abby enthused. "Changing his nose and his mouth and moving his little eyes…"

"Ya think you could move your little eyes to your computer long enough to tell me whatcha got?" Gibbs asked impatiently.

Clicking a remote control in her hand, the large screen plasma screen came to life and split into multiple views as various images appeared. Gibbs focussed on the largest image.

"Hansie Kruger, born in Capetown, South Africa in 1961," Abby told them. "He fought alongside the pan-Yoruba militant group in the Sudan during the 80's and various others including the RUF in Sierra Leone. He's a regular 'soldier of fortune, Gibbs. From what I can tell, he switches sides as often as he changes his underwear. Well, actually, I hope he changes his underwear more often because that would be, like, really disgusting."

"Maybe he doesn't wear any underwear…maybe our soldier of fortune prefers to go "commando," Tony added while licking the glaze from his fingers.

"You speaking from experience, Tony?" Abby asked, mischievously scanning him from head to toe.

"A good agent is always ready for _any_ kind of action, Abs," he replied wriggling his eyebrows.

"If you don't clam up, I'll give some action you weren't counting on," Gibbs growled. "Abs?"

"Sorry, Gibbs. More recently Kruger was implicated in a string of black market weapon sales in the Sudan, supplying Al-Qaeda groups."

"He's on the NCIS watch list, Boss," said Tony. "That's where I've seen his face."

"That's good work, Tony," Gibbs stared hard at the arrogant features on the screen. "Known associates?"

"I thought you'd never ask, El Jefe," Abby tapped a quick command into the computer keyboard and another face flicked onto the screen. "Markus De Beers, a thirty eight year old South African national. Fought alongside Kruger in the Sudan and was part of the weapon's smuggling ring. He and Kruger are practically joined at the hip – where you find one, you find both. I think that -"

"Whoa…Abs…go back to that last shot," Tony said suddenly.

"You got something, DiNozzo?"

"Dunno, Boss, maybe."

The photo appeared again on the screen.

"Take a look at the guy in the background. Abs, can you zoom in on this guy here?" Tony asked, pointing to the image where a man, his back half turned away from the others, stood just inside the shot.

"Anything for you, Tony," she said exchanging another flirtatious grin with the young agent.

"Re-eally?" he replied, spreading the word out into two long syllables and flashing his famous smile.

"Hey!" Gibbs exclaimed impatiently. "If you two are finished playing grab ass, I'm trying to run an investigation here!"

"Sorry, Boss, but she started it." Tony offered.

"I did not!" Abby countered indignantly.

As Tony opened his mouth to argue his point, he felt the sting of another well-placed head slap.

"I just finished it," Gibbs growled. "Abby? The guy in the background?"

"Oh, right," she said, tapping a few quick instructions into the keyboard and biting back a grin as Tony rubbed the back of his head.

As the man's face was enlarged on the screen, both Gibbs and Tony leaned closer to the plasma, eyes squinting slightly. They turned to look at each other as recognition dawned on their faces.

"Look familiar?" asked Tony tilting his head at the image of a younger Jacques Botha.

"Oh yeah," replied Gibbs. "Hair's a different colour and the beard's gone but that's definitely Jacques Botha. Abs, can you confirm ID on this guy?"

"The photo was sourced from the Crime Intelligence Division of the South African Police Service. It was taken in 1991 and the lists the man in the background as Johan Pietersen."

"New location, new identity," Tony said. "Explains why we couldn't get background on Botha prior to his arrival in the US."

"Abs, see what can you find out about Pietersen," Gibbs instructed.

Her fingers moved deftly across the keyboard as she typed the new commands. Almost immediately her computer notified them of a hit and she read the results as they flashed across the screen.

"Prior to 1992, the man we know as Jacques Botha was known as Johan Pietersen. He ran a huge weapon-smuggling cartel in Johannesburg and was known to be a ruthless businessman who often started trouble among rival mercenary or militia factions, then profited by supplying weapons to both sides."

"That's just the kind of upstanding citizen we need in the good ol' US of A," Tony quipped. "How'd someone like that get passed Immigration?"

"He had government help," Gibbs stated.

"South African government?"

"Ours."

"In early 1992, there was a huge explosion at the Pietersen home. He and his sons, Willem and Jonte, were reportedly killed in an explosion," Abby continued. "Rumour has it that they had just agreed to a deal with the CIA in exchange for information on certain mercenary and militia groups who were engaging US troops. Details of that deal were leaked and someone tried to make sure Pietersen and his family didn't say a word."

"The CIA," Tony laughed humourlessly. "What a surprise! Well that explains how they by-passed Immigration. But as far as we know only the old man and one of his sons were relocated here. What happened to the other son?"

"Could've died in the explosion. See if you can confirm that, Abs, good work," Gibbs said, turning on his heel and heading for the door.

"Wait Gibbs! We're not done yet! We have news on Tony's eighth grade science teacher…well…the guy who reminds Tony of his eighth grade science teacher."

With a few quick keystrokes the plasma displayed a series of photos of Morne Botha and a small, nervous looking man in his late fifties.

"Hey!" Tony said. "Those are pretty good. Guess they don't call me Cecil B DiNozzo for nothing."

"They don't call you Cecil B DiNozzo for anything," Gibbs replied wryly.

"True," Tony shrugged as he studied the images, suitably impressed with his handiwork. "Looks like I missed my calling, Boss!"

"You're young, DiNozzo, there's still time."

Abby cleared her throat impatiently, waiting for the familiar banter to stop so that she could get a word in.

"I got a hit on the facial recognition scan, Gibbs. It came up, like, super fast considering the millions of files it has to process. That never happens unless someone else has been searching him, too."

"Who is he?" Gibbs asked.

"I don't know."

"I thought you said you gotta hit?"

"I did but the file is restricted. I've tried to go around the firewall but I can't get in."

"Who's blocking it," Gibbs snapped.

"I am," said a voice from behind and all three inhabitants swung around in surprise to see FBI Agent Tobias Fornell standing in the doorway.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

**May peace be your gift at Christmas and your blessing all year through! Wishing you all a Christmas filled with love and laughter.**

**Thanks for your wonderful support, Lyn and Laine.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** We do not own the characters mentioned herein and any copyright infringement is unintentional.

**THE INSIDER**

**Chapter Four**

"Gibbs, Sciuto, DiNozzo," Fornell greeted, using the correct Italian pronunciation for Tony's name.

Gibbs glared at the newcomer through narrowed eyes. "Mind telling me why the FBI is withholding this information, Tobias?"

"Not at all, Jethro, after you tell me why you are so interested," Fornell replied, entering the lab and coming to a stop directly in front of his NCIS counterpart.

The two men waged a silent battle of wills, intense interest urging Gibbs to concede the point and reply.

"We're investigating the theft and possible black market sales of USMC weaponry. This man was seen meeting with persons of interest."

Fornell listened intently and, indicating the photograph on the screen replied. "Horst van Borough."

"Horst? Imagine being saddled with a name like Horst?" Tony quipped, earning an audible sigh from the senior FBI agent.

"A permanent resident of the US, he moved here from his native South Africa in 1996. The man's a mathematical genius with a masters in business science, commerce, computer science and a PHD in economics."

"Ooh, a computer geek. We gotta get us one of them, Boss," Tony said. "Would cut down a lot of leg work."

"Then what would I need you for?" Gibbs deadpanned, ignoring the mock hurt expression on his agent's face as he turned back to address Fornell. "Why the restricted file?"

"Last year, van Borough was implicated in a money laundering operation for one of the biggest crime syndicates on the East Coast, headed up by Vincentio Alvaretti."

"The Bureau spent four months combing over the financial records of his operation. We found numerous offshore transactions that we were able to trace to the Cayman Islands. However, Cayman Island financial institutions are not exactly forthcoming with account holder and transaction details so we were unable to prosecute," Fornell explained.

"You mean the Men in Black's finest couldn't crack one little nerdy guy!" Tony goaded.

"Don't let his appearance deceive you. The guy's got enough information about illegal transactions and criminal activities to put Alvaretti away for life. We offered him immunity, witness protection and anything else we could think of. The man wouldn't budge."

"I heard Philly PD busted Vinnie Alvaretti last year for aggravated assault," Tony said. "He's doing one to three in Greensburg."

"He's up for parole in three months. Seems he's been a model prisoner," Fornell said, unable to hide his disgust. "Van Borough's been keeping a low profile but we knew he would poke his head up soon enough so we flagged his file and waited."

"Well, he's poked his head up alright, Tobias, right in the middle of my investigation," Gibbs said.

"So using a legitimate trucking company as a front, Botha and Kruger plan the raids and steal and sell the weapons and van Borough works his financial magic and hides the proceeds," Abby summarised.

"What do you want to do, Boss?" Tony asked Gibbs.

"Sign whatever information you have over to me and the FBI will take it from here," Fornell answered.

"Not gonna happen," Gibbs replied.

"Then we have a problem."

"Wouldn't be the first time," the former Marine stated. "Tony, find van Borough. Bring him in for questioning."

Tony started to stand when Fornell's sharp tone brought him up short.

"Stop right there, DiNozzo!" he said taking another step closer to Gibbs. "This is an FBI case."

"That's where you're wrong, Tobias. You said yourself that you had your shot and couldn't make it stick. Now it's our turn."

"I lost an agent on that case!" Fornell snapped.

"And I've got a dead Marine!" Gibbs fired back just as loudly.

The two senior agents stood toe to toe, both refusing to surrender their ground. In the midst of the tension Abby stood, seemingly forgotten. She was reminded of the two pit-bull terriers owned by her childhood neighbour - their gnashing teeth, menacing growls and dangerous body language threatened as they vied for dominance over each other. She recalled her neighbour always put an end to the conflicts by turning the garden hose on them.

Tony looked from one to the other and shifted his weight uncomfortably. "So…I'm going?"

"You're going!" Gibbs snarled without looking away from his FBI counterpart.

"Right, I'm on it," Tony replied, grateful for an excuse to escape the impending train wreck. He'd almost reached the exit when he stopped suddenly and turned around. "Ah, where am I going?"

"You heard him, Tobias. Where is he going?"

Ten seconds that felt like hours passed before Fornell ground out through tightly clenched teeth. "Apartment, 48C, 4367 Foundry Lane, Woodland."

"Woodland?" Tony questioned. "You weren't kidding when you said van Borough was keeping a low profile, that's a tough part of town."

"Take Balboa with you," Gibbs said.

"I can handle it."

"Tony!"

"Taking Balboa with me, I gotcha, Boss." Shrugging apologetically at Abby, the younger man jogged to the elevator.

"Perhaps you guys should take this upstairs," Abby suggested, keen to get back to work. When neither man made a move she placed her fisted hands on her hips and added a warning. "Don't make me get the hose!"

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

NCIS Director, Tom Morrow opened his desk drawer and shook two aspirin from the bottle he kept there. Dry swallowing the tablets he frowned deeply at the two senior agents who were still locked in their verbal joust over jurisdiction.

"That's enough," Morrow said in a low authoritative voice that brooked no argument. "Agent Fornell, you said yourself that the FBI's case against Alvaretti had reached a dead-end, did you not?"

"Yes, Sir, but I am certain that van Borough has information that will lead to the arrest of Alvaretti for the murder of my agent."

"Be that as it may, van Borough is a person of interest in an investigation into the theft of USMC weaponry and the death of a Marine. I'm afraid our case must take precedence," Morrow stated.

"With all due respect, Director, I don't think I need to remind you that an investigation into the murder of a federal agent is never considered closed until an arrest is made and the perpetrator is prosecuted to the full extent of the law," Fornell answered determinedly.

Morrow slowly stood to his full height and eyed the FBI agent with a simmering anger.

"You're right, Agent Fornell, you don't need to remind me," he said coolly. "However, the fact remains that FBI involvement at this point in time could jeopardise our investigation. An investigation that we believe is no less important than your own. Unless, of course, you are suggesting that the life of this young Marine - who also died in the performance of his duty - was not as worthy as that of your agent?"

"No, Sir, I'm not suggesting that at all," Fornell responded.

"As it appears the two of you are unable to resolve the matter amicably, I suggest that you allow cooler heads to prevail. Go get a coffee while I call Director Hewitt – and try not to kill each other on the way."

"Yes, Sir," the agents said before turning for the door.

"Gibbs!" Morrow called. "I'll have my usual blend."

As the door closed behind them, Morrow exhaled loudly then huffed a laugh. "Cooler heads? That'll be the day."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

With one arm tightly supporting aching ribs, Special Agent Balboa removed his sunglasses and swiped at the tears that had leaked from his eyes.

"It wasn't funny, man!" Tony protested half-heartedly from behind the wheel of the agency sedan. "I could have been killed!"

"Chris went to the wrong bar?" Balboa asked for the third time, his howling laughter echoing in the confines of the vehicle. "No wonder he volunteered to take that case at Pensacola."

"Pacci's in Florida?" Tony asked.

"Couldn't get on the transport quick enough," Balboa said. "It was either that or face Gibbs."

"What are you talking about?" Tony asked as he manoeuvred the car into a parking space near van Borough's apartment building.

"Are you kidding me? Everyone working at the yard knows, if you mess with DiNozzo, you better be prepared to face Gibbs."

"Really?" Tony asked, genuinely surprised but inexplicably warmed by the thought.

"Absolutely. We'll be lucky to see Pacci again before spring and he'll be hoping that more than the snow would have thawed by then."

Tony switched off the motor, removed the keys from the ignition and turned to face his colleague.

"Okay, let's get this straight, once and for all," he said with a serious expression. "Gibbs is a tough task master, I'll give you that but he's fair and his bark is _definitely_ worse than his bite."

"Really?"

"Hell, no! Are you serious? Gibbs will be all over Pacci the minute he sets foot in the bullpen."

The two agents laughed again as they climbed from the vehicle and entered the apartment building.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

He wound down the window to allow the air to circulate through the stifling hot car and removed his cell from the pocket of his jacket. He dialled a number he knew by heart and was not surprised when it was answered on the first ring.

"It's me," he said before the other man had a chance to speak.

"Well?" came the insistent request.

"He's gone. Looks like he's taken some stuff from his apartment and cleared out."

"Dammit!" came the reply. "Did anyone see you?"

"Just the apartment manager but he was too drunk to care about anything. Soon as I flashed the badge he gave me the access key and crawled back into his bottle," he replied, eyes narrowing as he saw the dark sedan reversing smoothly into a tight parking spot down the block.

"Did you find anything?" he other man asked, his gruff voice laced with a hint of desperation.

"Nothing. Turned the place over pretty good but –"

"But what? What's going on?"

"Give me a sec," he said, as two young men climbed from the dark sedan and walked toward the entrance of van Borough's apartment building. He leaned forward in his seat to try to get a better look.

"What's going on? Answer me!" the gruff voice demanded.

"Seems we're not the only ones looking for van Borough. A couple of guys just entered the apartment block – judging by the car and the suits, my guess is they're Feds," he replied. "But that's not the worst of it…one of those guys, is Morne's new friend, Michael Sloan."

"What! How can that be possible? You said you did a background check!"

"I did," he defended. "Whoever set up his fake ID was very thorough."

"This just gets better and better," the gruff voice spat sarcastically.

"Don't panic…it may not be as bad as you think. They can't have anything on you or they would have taken you in for questioning," he reasoned. "And the fact that they're here means they don't know where van Borough is either. This could work in our favour."

"How?"

"We keep an eye on them, let them do the leg-work. They should lead us straight to van Borough and then we take them," he said calmly.

"It's risky," the gruff voice stated, "but we don't have much choice. When we get van Borough, I want a bullet in Sloan's head. This is what you've worked all these years for. You know what you have to do – keep in touch."

The call disconnected with a sharp click.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Molly had been having the morning from hell. Her new shoes were killing her, the breakfast rush was fast and furious and the new barista had messed up every other order. Had it not been for impending tuition fees and the promise of a career in marine biology when she graduated next year, she would gladly walk away from waiting tables. Still, the job had some benefits…the boss worked her shifts around her classes, she got to keep her tips and the customers were mostly friendly.

As she cleared the empty cups from an outside table, she looked up into a pair of deep blue eyes and a drop dead gorgeous smile and, suddenly, her day seemed a whole lot brighter.

"Hi Gibbs!" she said cheerfully. "The usual to go?"

"Hey, Molly," he replied. "Nope, today I'll have the usual to drink here and a double espresso to go in about fifteen minutes."

"Sure," she said.

As Gibbs introduced her to Fornell, she gave him a welcoming smile before taking his order and disappearing inside the cafe.

They sat quietly, watching the passing traffic until Molly returned with their order.

"You're in luck!" she announced as she unloaded the tray with practised ease.

"Complimentary rocky road slice with every coffee today. Hey, where's Tony? He hasn't been by for a few days."

"We've been working a case," Gibbs said. "He'll be by soon enough."

"That's a relief," she answered, smiling meekly at Fornell. "For a moment I thought you had a new partner."

"Hey, I told you, DiNozzo's too old for you," he said, feeling a touch of sympathy for the young waitress as a deep blush coloured her cheeks.

"It's not like that, Gibbs," she defended. "Tony and I are just friends and he's always been a perfect gentleman."

"If he steps outta line, you be sure to let me know."

"I will," she laughed, giving him a wide smile as she hurried on to the next customer.

"Let me guess, you're a regular, right?" Fornell quipped.

Gibbs shrugged a shoulder casually before taking a long draught of the hot beverage.

"She's a good kid. She works hard and she's putting herself through college…and she makes great coffee."

"She seems to have a king-sized crush on your partner."

"Don't they all," Gibbs stated as a small smile played across his lips then disappeared just as quickly as he eyed his old friend. "You wanna tell me what's eating you about this case, Tobias?"

"I told you," Fornell insisted. "We lost an agent on the Alvaretti case. I mean to see that justice is done and Horst van Borough is the key to that happening."

"We've all lost men, Tobias, in battle and on the street…we lose a bit of ourselves every damn time. Why does my gut tell me that this one's different?"

Fornell was uncharacteristically quiet as he sipped his cappuccino and for a moment Gibbs thought he wasn't going to answer the question.

"His name was Jake Patterson," he said quietly contemplating the froth rimming his cup. "He was a good man and a good agent. He needed pulling into line every so often but he was sharp as a whip and he died way too young. I liked him, Jethro…I liked him a lot…you know how it is."

Gibbs nodded his head slowly – he knew only too well. He'd suffered too much loss in his life – people he'd loved deeply. He'd joined NIS with a personal agenda but once that had been met, he stayed on to fulfil his civic duty and to see justice served.

Not knowing whether he could withstand further loss, he'd built up walls to isolate himself and prevent him from getting close to anyone – three ex-wives bore testimony to that. Somewhere along the way a loquacious, British medical examiner, a brilliantly eccentric forensic scientist and a lanky, smart-mouthed ex-cop with uncanny natural instincts and no end of loyalty had forced their way through his defences and became his makeshift family.

Seeing the hurt in his old friend's eyes, he made a promise to whatever God was listening, that he would do whatever it took to keep these people safe.

The shrill of his cell drew him from his thoughts and he held it at arms length while he squinted at the caller ID.

"Got something, Abs?"

"Maybe," the forensic scientist replied. "I found an online photo of one of Johan Pietersen's sons that was taken at his school in Johannesburg. He was about eight years old at the time. Using a forensic imaging program – one that was perfected by the FBI to show the likely effect of aging on missing persons – I was able to determine that the man we know as Morne' Botha was definitely was known as Jonte Pietersen."

"Good job, Abs. Anything on the other son?"

"Nothing, Gibbs, but Pietersen, now Botha, only brought one son to the US with him. It looks likely that the other son, Willem, didn't survive the explosion but the only people who know for sure are the Bothas and the CIA."

"Thanks, Abs," Gibbs said ending the call.

He looked at his FBI counterpart and asked. "How's your interagency relationship with the CIA?"

A wry smile quirked Fornell's lips. "About as good as yours."

"That bad, huh?"

Gibbs stood, as Molly returned to their table. She handed him the steaming hot espresso he'd ordered for Morrow and an extra piece of rocky road slice encased in plastic wrap.

"For Tony," she said with a shy smile.

"You keep this up and he'll be the size of a house by Christmas," Gibbs said, returning her smile with one that could light up a room. The young waitress blushed again then hurried to greet another new customer.

"You sure it's DiNozzo she's sweet on?" Fornell asked wryly.

The senior FBI agent glanced at the total on the check and left a ten-dollar bill to cover it. As he started to walk from the table he came to an abrupt halt as Gibbs blocked his path.

"Something wrong?" Fornell asked.

Gibbs' look of discontent drifted from the ten-dollar bill on the table to his old friend.

Huffing resignedly, Fornell pulled his wallet from his pocket and left another five dollars. Mollified, Gibbs nodded his head in approval and turned toward the office as Fornell followed along behind.

"Coffee wasn't that good," he muttered.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Gibbs placed the Styrofoam cup of coffee on Morrow's large oaken desk and stepped back to Fornell's side as the director looked up from behind the mountain of paperwork.

"I've just spoken to Director Hewitt and we're in agreement. While obtaining enough evidence to prosecute Alvaretti for the murder of FBI Agent Patterson remains a priority, at the moment it is still an unfounded allegation." He raised his index finger to silence Fornell's objection before it was voiced. "However, at this point in time, the more immediate threat is to Marine transports and particularly to those Marines assigned to guard them. Therefore, this will be a joint investigation with NCIS and Special Agent Gibbs appointed as lead agent, is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir," Fornell and Gibbs answered simultaneously.

"Gibbs, you'll need to bring Agent Fornell up to speed with the investigation so far and Fornell you will brief your team accordingly. We're working toward the same goal here, gentlemen, convincing Horst van Borough to testify. If he agrees to one, there's a good chance he'll agree to both."

A quick knock sounded and the men turned toward the office door as it swung open, revealing a slightly out of breath DiNozzo.

"Excuse me, Director," he said, waiting until he received a nod of invitation from Morrow and then addressing Gibbs. "Boss, I think van Borough's done a runner. His apartment manager said he left sometime last evening, probably after he left the trucking depot."

"Damn," Gibbs cursed. "Manager have any idea where he went?"

"No, he saw van Borough leave last night and hasn't seen him since."

"That doesn't mean the man's left town," Morrow stated.

"There's something else," Tony added. "The manager said that a cop asked to be let into van Borough's apartment this morning. Apparently we just missed him, he left minutes before we arrived."

Gibbs and Fornell exchanged a glance.

"Wouldn't be one of mine," Fornell stated confidently. "Van Borough's file was flagged directly to me. I came straight here and I didn't mention him to anyone."

"Cop have a warrant?" Gibbs asked.

"Nope, just flashed a badge and the manager gave him a key."

"What kind of badge?" Fornell asked.

Tony huffed a humourless laugh. "Could have been a boy scout merit badge for all this guy cared. Wasn't even zero nine hundred and the man reeked of alcohol. He was more interested in getting back to the Married With Children marathon playing on the TV than answering my questions. Even the description he gave me of the cop sounded suspiciously like Al Bundy."

"Al who?" Fornell and Gibbs replied simultaneously.

"Never mind," Tony replied. "Someone was looking for something, though, they really gave the place the once over. Upturned the mattress, emptied the drawers, made a real mess. We dusted the place for prints and Balboa's taken them to Abby."

"Agent DiNozzo," Morrow said. "If van Borough's things are still in his apartment, what makes you think he's gone?"

"Empty clothes hangers strewn on the bed and floor as if someone packed in a hurry and no trace of a suitcase or a bathroom kit. The utilities were still on, so he left suddenly or plans on coming back…my monies on the former," the younger man asked looking from Fornell to Gibbs. "Fornell …you're still here! Lose your key to the Hoover Building?"

"This is now a joint NCIS/FBI operation," Morrow replied. "However, Special Agent Gibbs has the lead."

"Oh that's just…great," Tony said with a smile for Fornell that looked more like a grimace.

"You think that Botha has realised van Borough's on the run?" Fornell asked.

"Someone's looking for him - but we need to find him first," Gibbs said, turning to Tony. "Put a BOLO-"

"BOLO's already in place," Tony anticipated. "Abby's flagged van Borough's accounts and credit cards but if he's half the genius Fornell says he is, I'm sure he'll figure a way around that."

"Contact-"

"I contacted the Commander at Quantico. He's arranging for PFC Roberts and his family to be housed on base under guard until further notice."

"Alert-"

"Airports, major train and bus stations have been alerted with van Borough's photo and description but the guy's got sixteen hours start on us, Boss, so I'm guessing that's kinda like shutting the gate after the Horst has bolted."

The two senior agents rolled their eyes at DiNozzo's play on words.

"Keep me informed," Morrow said by way of dismissal as he reached to answer his ringing phone.

The three men turned to leave the office, each wondering where to start looking for a fifty-ish, mathematical genius who may hold the key to two murders. Morrow's voice intruded on their thoughts.

"Just a minute!"

Morrow placed the call on hold and a brief incredulous expression travelled fleetingly across his face.

"Just when you think you've seen it all," the director muttered.

"You got something, Director?" Gibbs asked.

Morrow indicated his phone. "I've got van Borough – he wants to make a deal."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

**A/N We hope you enjoyed that chapter and will join us for the next one when the action heats up for Tony and Gibbs.**

**Thank you for your wonderful support, reviews and alerts.**

**We wish you all a happy new year and hope 2011 brings you and your loved ones, good health and much love and laughter.**

**Lyn and Laine**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** We do not own the characters mentioned herein and any copyright infringement is unintentional.

**THE INSIDER**

**Chapter Five**

Tony was seated at his desk when Fornell and Gibbs walked determinedly down the stairs from Morrow's office where they had been discussing the latest unexpected development in their investigation.

"Well?" he asked.

"Horst van Borough's in River Hollow," Gibbs replied.

"River Hollow? It's a bit cold for hiking through the mountains, isn't it?"

"Seems he had words with Morne' Botha at the trucking depot and told him he wouldn't work for them anymore. Then got on the first bus heading outta town before the old man got home," Fornell supplied.

"River Hollow's only three hours from here – he didn't get very far," Tony stated.

"He didn't realise that the only connecting bus from River Hollow would bring him right back to DC," Gibbs replied.

"Man has a genius IQ and he can't read a bus timetable. Go figure," Tony scoffed. "What's his story anyway? Is he really willing to testify against Alvaretti and the Bothas?"

"He says he is," Fornell grumbled. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"Aw come on, Fornell, I've never known you to look a gift Horst in the mouth," Tony quipped.

Fornell rolled his eyes at the pun and shot Tony a look that telegraphed an extra dose of annoyance.

"How do you work with this guy?" he asked Gibbs.

"He grows on you," Gibbs replied with a shrug, receiving a beaming smile from his partner.

"So do genital warts," Fornell muttered and sighed loudly when the younger man's smile grew wider and he realised that he was being played like a bad violin.

Although mildly amused by the verbal sparring between his partner and his old friend, Gibbs attempted to get back on topic

"He told the director that he wanted out. With Alvaretti doing time in Greensburg, van Borough tried to retire and move to Miami but the Bothas sought him out and made it impossible for him to make a clean break."

"Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in," Tony said in an impressive imitation. "That's Al Pacino, Boss…you know, from Godfather III. I have the box set at home if you'd like to borrow – it."

A thwack sound punctuated Tony's sentence as the folder in Gibbs hand made a swift connection with the back of the younger man's head.

Fornell watched the exchange with open amusement before adding. "Personally, I preferred Pacino in Scarface."

"Only one of the best movies _ever_!" Tony said, recovering quickly and slipping into another impression. "Say hello to my little friend!"

"You'll be saying goodbye with my foot up your ass if you don't settle down," Gibbs warned.

"Settling down, Boss," the younger agent replied with a grimace. "So, what's next?"

"Grab your overnight bag, we're taking a trip."

"To River Hollow?"

"Yep. With the Bothas sniffing around, the director doesn't want to take any chances. We leave now we can be there by fourteen hundred, stay the night and head back in the morning."

Tony looked at Fornell then back at Gibbs.

"It's only a six hour round trip, Boss. Even allowing for traffic, we can be back by eighteen hundred," he said. "Why stay overnight?"

"Because I'll need time to secure a safe house, brief a round-the-clock protection detail and to speak with the district attorney about setting up a deal for van Borough," Fornell replied.

"We're not using one of our safe houses? I thought we had the lead in this case?"

"We have," Gibbs replied. "But this case could take weeks, even months, to go to trial. Directors Morrow and Hewitt agreed that the Bureau has more resources."

"This isn't gonna be another of those cases where the FBI gets credit for our hard work, is it, Boss?"

"Isn't it always? Grab your gear and go gas up the car."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

FBI Agent Tobias Fornell strode into the operations room at the Hoover Building wearing a look that could start another ice age. Jensen and Holloway's teams had been assigned to van Borough's protection detail and were already seated waiting for the briefing to start. No one looked particularly thrilled and Fornell couldn't blame them - protection detail was one of the most important, yet tedious assignments an agent could be given

"What's going on, Tobias?" Frank Jensen asked.

"Where's Warren?" Fornell asked, looking around for his 2IC, Mark Warren. "I've been trying to reach him for thirty minutes, he's not answering his cell."

"He just phoned in from a pay phone. Said his cell battery died and he'll be back as soon as he can," Joe Holloway replied.

"Back from where?" Fornell replied, not bothering to hide his irritation. "He's on duty! Where the hell's he been?"

"He didn't say," Holloway shrugged. "Maybe he stepped out for an early lunch."

Fornell cursed under his breath as he made his way to the coffee machine. He inspected the over-brewed sludge in the base of the pot before pouring himself a cup, then he turned to address the two teams.

"We got a break in a case that involved the murder of one of our agents, Jake Patterson," Fornell told them.

"You got something on Alvaretti?" Jensen asked. "I thought he was in Greensburg."

"He is. NCIS tripped my alert early this morning when they attempted to run a background check on Horst van Borough."

"Van Borough…" Holloway repeated, his eyes opening wide as realisation struck. "Alvaretti's bookkeeper, right? What do the Navy cops want with him?"

"Apparently van Borough's been doing some creative accountancy for some gunrunners who've been stealing weapons from the Marine Corps. Van Borough's looking for immunity, wants to make a deal with the DA. The good news is that he's also agreed to testify to Vincentio Alvaretti's involvement in Patterson's murder."

"So, the Navy cops are running this?"

"Joint op. NCIS is on their way to some holiday cabins in River Hollow to get van Borough. We'll handle the safe house and witness protection detail. We'll be providing security around the clock at the Forestville safe house until this goes to trial. As soon as we can iron out the details of his plea bargain we can get the information we need and take down both organizations."

"So, van Borough hasn't given us anything yet?" Jensen asked.

"Nothing useful. So far he's all talk but we'll get it," Fornell said with determination. "Van Borough is a slippery SOB but he isn't stupid and he isn't about to take on any crime syndicates by himself. If he's going to get out of this alive, he's going to have to play ball with us."

"What time do you expect them to arrive at the safe house?" Jensen asked.

"Tomorrow, mid-morning," Fornell replied. "But I want that safe house locked up tight tonight. There are to be a minimum of four agents stationed at the safe house 24/7. One will remain inside the house while the other three patrol outside."

"Understood," Jensen said, turning to address Holloway. "You guys worked last night, so my team will set up the safe house while you get some rest."

Nodding his agreement, Holloway added. "We'll relieve you tonight at seven."

"I'll send Warren over later in case you need anything. Keep me informed," Fornell instructed by way of dismissal.

He took a sip of forgotten coffee as he watched Jensen and Holloway get to their feet and lead their teams from the operations room. The vile taste almost caused him to gag and he threw the remains into the nearby trashcan with more force than was necessary.

As he turned for his office, the sound of shuffling papers led him behind a small partition and he turned his attention to the lone figure that sat at the desk. "Sorenson?"

"Oh, hey, Boss!" Probational FBI Agent Paul Sorenson replied, his face wearing an uncertain smile.

"What are you doing here? You're not due back until Monday?"

"I wanted to go over my notes on the Levine case before the trial next week."

"While you're on medical leave? Keep that up, kid, and I just might have to recommend permanent placement when your probation is up," Fornell praised the younger man.

Since transferring onto his team 6 months ago, Sorenson had shown some real promise and Fornell had been quietly pleased with the new addition to the team. No reason why he couldn't give the youngster some encouragement.

"How's the shoulder?" Fornell asked.

"Much better, I've been doing extra physio and it's almost as good as new," Sorenson rotated his arm a little to demonstrate.

"Good to hear. Now, get outta here before I get my ass kicked for letting you work before you're medically cleared." Fornell said with a small grin. As he turned away he checked his watch again. "Did you see Warren earlier?"

"Mark? Yeah, he…er…said he had to run an errand and asked me to cover for him for an hour," Sorenson offered apologetically. "Guess he lost track of time."

"Lost track of time? How long has he been gone?" Fornell snapped.

"Couple of hours. He took a call and then started acting kind of…strange…uneasy or something. He said he had to leave but he looked kind of upset. You think he's okay?"

"I'm sure he's fine," Fornell replied. "I can't guarantee he'll stay that way if he doesn't get his ass back here soon."

"If you need something, Boss, I'd be happy to stay until Mark gets back."

"No," Fornell said. "Get outta here. We'll see you on Monday."

He strode back to his office wondering what could be so important that Warren would leave the office for that amount of time without letting anyone know where he was going. Whatever it was, it had better be good.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Gibbs couldn't believe it. Only this morning he had been silently lamenting the tedium of sitting in a vehicle without DiNozzo. Now, after two hours of movie trivia, constantly changing radio stations and loud but thankfully tuneful singing, Gibbs found himself giving serious thought to justifiable homicide laws.

Having raided the vending machine in the NCIS lounge, the younger man had already gnawed his way through two candy bars.

"You can't still be hungry," Gibbs said, watching as the younger man opened and began to devour a large can of Pringles.

"I'm a finely tuned athlete. Need to keep my energy levels up," he managed around a mouthful of chips.

"If you don't change your diet you're gonna have a finely tuned heart attack," Gibbs warned.

Several more minutes passed before, with a long-suffering sigh, Gibbs asked. "You have to do that?"

"What?"

"Make all that noise when you eat!"

"You know what they say, Boss, once you pop, you just can't stop," Tony replied cheekily.

A surprised squeak escaped from his throat as the container was ripped from his hands and thrown from the window of the car.

"Consider yourself stopped," Gibbs muttered.

Looking out the rear window of the car, Tony watch forlornly as the container bounced end over end along the road. Licking the excess salt from his fingers, he wiped them on his jeans, removed his cell from his jacket pocket and flipped it open.

"Reception's pretty poor up here. I got nothing."

"Seemed fine from the cabin van Borough's staying in. Probably get worse until we clear the mountains. We're only here one night, shouldn't be a problem," Gibbs replied.

Even as he spoke the words, he felt a slight stirring in his gut.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Fornell tossed the pen down onto his desktop and leant back in his chair, scrubbing his hands across his tired eyes. As he waited for a return call from the district attorney, he decided to make a dent in the mountain of paperwork involved in requisitioning sufficient agents, essentials and weapons to adequately supply a safe house for an indefinite period of time.

He forced himself to take another bite from his lunch and looked longingly at the small couch in the corner of the office, wishing he'd had more sleep the night before. Truth be known, he'd been spending more and more time at work lately. Sleeping on the couch in his office at least once or twice a week had also become normal practice. Things were definitely not good at home.

Who was he kidding? Things were not good at work either! His team was currently in disarray – one man on special assignment, one on medical leave and one about to be on unemployment if he didn't show his face in here soon. His phone rang constantly, the interruptions making concentration impossible and his life a living hell.

Damn, that woman! He should have listened to Gibbs' warnings and steered well clear of her when he'd had the chance. His little daughter's face flashed across his mind's eye and he smiled fondly. Emily was the only good thing to come out of his marriage to Dianne and he'd be damned if he'd let the bitterness between himself and her mother, stop him from seeing her.

Forcing his mind back to the matter at hand, he turned his attention to the papers on his desk and the reports that needed signing.

A tentative knock drew his attention as FBI Agent, Mark Warren opened the door wearing a sheepish expression.

"You wanted to see me, Boss?"

"Glad you could make it, Warren," Fornell growled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Where the hell did you disappear to?"

"I…I had an important errand to run…it was quiet and I thought I'd be back sooner," Warren replied, intentionally avoiding meeting Fornell's eyes.

"We get an important case and I can't find my damn team because you're out running errands!" Fornell hissed. "We are a two man team at the moment - you and me. I need your head in the game."

"I understand, Boss, it won't happen again."

"You're damn right it won't!" Fornell barked. "You're a member of an FBI major crimes team…_my_ team. I can have that rectified in a second if you've got more important things to do with your time."

"No…I mean…I can handle the job, Boss."

Fornell's eyes narrowed as he looked thoughtfully at the younger agent. It was extremely out of character for the younger man to simply leave the office like that. The lead agent realised that perhaps a change of tack was in order.

"Everything alright at home? Suzy and the kids okay?" he said, with a hint of concern lacing the gruff demeanour.

"They're fine, Boss…I just…" Warren met his eyes for an instant and before dropping his gaze to the floor. "Everything's fine, it's nothing I can't handle."

"Then handle it – now! I don't need you distracted while this is going on. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

He brought his agent up to date with details of the case, unable to shake the feeling that something else was definitely occupying the younger man's thoughts.

"I'm waiting for a call from the DA. I need you to go meet with Jensen and check out the safe house. We screw this protection detail up and NCIS will never let us forget it."

"Yes, Boss…and I really am sorry for…you know."

"Just get your damn head on straight!" he said. "And make sure you sign out a new cell battery!"

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Upon their arrival at the cabin almost six hours ago, Tony had been horrified to learn that there was no television. He had grown increasingly bored despite alternating with Gibbs to perform frequent perimeter checks. The former Marine knew that a bored DiNozzo usually meant trouble for someone and after enduring the product of Tony's tedium during the three-hour drive, he was more than happy for van Borough to bear the brunt of it now. Driving van Borough to distraction would keep Tony occupied for many hours and Gibbs had to admit - it wasn't cable television but it was just as entertaining.

The accountant peeled back the top slice of bread and sneered with disgust at the ham and salad filling before tossing the sandwich back onto the plate.

"I can't eat this!" he complained in a high nasal voice. "These sandwiches were barely palatable for lunch and now you expect me to eat them for dinner?"

Tony paused on his way back into the kitchenette to collect his and Gibbs' meals.

"There's nothing wrong with that sandwich," he replied indignantly. "I even washed my hands before I made it this time."

"You made the same kind of sandwiches for lunch," van Borough whined. "Haven't you ever heard of variety?"

"Oh, _t__hat's_ _right!_" he said, slapping his hand against his forehead. "I'm sorry, Horst, you ordered the deluxe buffet on the silver service, prepared by the _garde manger_ chef! What can I say, I was so busy working on the ice-sculpture that I just ran out of time!"

The accountant aimed a humourless smile at the agent and poked suspiciously at the sandwich.

"I'm just saying that when you stopped for supplies, why couldn't you have bought sirloin steak or veal? The least the US government could do is spring for a decent meal!"

The silver haired agent looked up from the newspaper and lifted one brow in silent query.

"Eat it. Don't eat it," he shrugged. "Not running a gourmet kitchen, van Borough."

"I don't think you appreciate the size of the risk that I'm taking here, Agent Gibbs. Once Botha and his friends find out about our…arrangement…my life will be worthless. The least you could do is to provide me with a few basic human comforts," he continued petulantly.

"Hey! You're the one who chose to hide out in a cabin in the boondocks, Horst. You want luxury, you shoulda booked the penthouse suite at The Four Seasons – at least they have cable," Tony remarked.

Van Borough pushed the unopened can of cola away in disgust and huffed indignantly.

"I don't drink soda! I don't suppose you thought to purchase any organic fruit juice?"

"Plenty of water in the tap, van Borough," Gibbs replied.

"I only drink premium bottled water…you can never be too careful."

"You know what they say, Boss, you can lead a Horst to water but you can't make him drink," Tony needled.

Gibbs flicked his eyes heavenward but allowed a small smirk to twist his lips and continued to read the paper.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Warren hadn't placed the number in his contact list but he recognised it anyway when it flashed on the display of his cell.

"Hello?" he said tentatively and grimaced as the caller spoke and recognised the voice.

"I thought I told you not to call me," he said with obvious irritation and looking over both shoulders to ensure no one was listening. "I told you, I can't do this anymore. If someone finds out, I'll lose everything. My boss already suspects something is going on."

Warren pulled the cell away from his ear as the caller replied threateningly.

"No…please…don't do that!" he protested. Closing his eyes Warren slowly exhaled in resignation.

"Okay…okay…what do you want from me?"

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Tony shuffled the deck of cards and reached out a hand to clear a space on the table, pushing the cluttered papers and magazines they'd accumulated into a small pile. Spying a hard case, the type that was used to store reading glasses he lifted it with interest and waved it in Gibbs' direction.

"This yours, Boss?" he asked, surprised when van Borough's hand shot out and snatched the case from his fingers.

"No! It's mine, leave it alone!" van Borough demanded, standing up suddenly and sending the chair legs scraping across the tiled floor.

"Keep your panties on, Horst," Tony replied. "Anyway, why would I steal your old glasses case when you have a genuine Italian leather wallet with three credit cards and six hundred and seventy-three dollars cash in it?"

"You stole my wallet?" van Borough accused as he removed his wallet from his back pocket and sorted through the contents, confirming nothing was missing.

"Just honing my pick-pocketing skills, Horst, a good agent is always ready for any situation," Tony goaded as he stood and walked toward the door. "By the way, your driver's licence expired last week and the condom you keep in the lining is older than me. Wouldn't use that if I were you – maybe you should think about donating that thing to the Smithsonian."

Ignoring the younger agent's sarcasm, the accountant moved across to the couch, flopped dramatically down onto the cushions and began to flick through a magazine.

Gibbs looked around, surveying the interior of the small but neat bungalow. The cabin was one of ten situated on a large private property and rented all year round to those who loved the fresh mountain air but liked some creature comforts.

The lead agent's gut was churning and not because of DiNozzo's sandwiches. It had started as a slight ache in the pit of his stomach and grown steadily over the last few hours. Something was off but be damned if he knew what. For the hundredth time, he thought back over the events and decisions that had brought them to this point, looking for something that he may have missed.

Dropping the newspaper back onto the coffee table, Gibbs stood up and walked into the hallway, watching as Tony made his way slowly through the house checking doors and making sure the windows were well covered. Catching the younger agent's eye he received a steady meaning filled look in return. Seems his wasn't the only gut churning.

"It's late, time to turn in, van Borough," Gibbs turned and headed to the kitchenette in search of coffee. "Tony, escort our guest to his room and stay with him till I relieve you."

"Am I being punished?" Tony asked.

"Now, DiNozzo."

"It's the sandwiches, isn't it? You know, there's only so much I can do with ham and salad on rye."

"DiNozzo!"

"I'm just saying-"

"Tony!"

"Come on, Horst!" the younger agent muttered.

"Are you going to tell me a bedtime story, Agent DiNozzo?" the accountant asked sarcastically.

Tony laughed as he checked the hallway again and indicated for the other man to stay behind him.

"I don't know any bed_time_ stories, Horst, but I've got dozens of bed_room_ stories I could share," the younger man replied, "and judging from the age of the condom in your wallet, you could use a few tips."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

A few hours later a vehicle drew slowly around the corner and with headlights switched off, rolled quietly along the street. Pulling to a stop halfway down the block, the driver killed the engine and sat for a few moments silently watching.

Peering through the windshield he read the sign set back from the sidewalk, "River Hollow's Holiday Cabins, entrance next left." All of the cabins were in darkness except for the faint glow through the blinds of the windows of the cabin with a Dodge Intrepid parked out front.

"You think that's it?" de Beers asked from the driver's seat.

"That's the car he described," Jacques Botha replied. "Wait! Someone's coming out!"

They watched as a young man walked out of the front door of the cabin and scanned the nearby tree line for movement. Seemingly satisfied, he walked to the left of the cabin and disappeared out of sight for several minutes before returning into view on the other side of the building. He walked slowly to the door of the cabin and stood scanning the tree line again.

"That's Sloan," Morne' Botha hissed from the rear seat, his statement followed by the unmistakable sound of the bolt of a high-powered rifle sliding and locking into place.

"Wait!" his father ordered.

"I can take him!" Morne' replied. "I've got the shot."

"No, not here…I have a better idea."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Fornell groaned softly as the dull ache in his lower back began to throb in earnest and swinging his legs down from the couch, leaned forward and rested his head in his hands. This was ridiculous. He'd worked his ass off for fifteen years and for what? Nights spent twisted into a pretzel on his office couch while Dianne enjoyed a peaceful night's sleep in a bed _he'd _paid for.

Warren had called in earlier, reporting that the safe house was set-up, secure and awaiting the arrival of their witness. Fornell had sent him home with orders to be back in the office by 6am. He didn't really need him at work that early but he wasn't quite ready to forgive the younger man for his unexplained absence earlier in the day.

Checking his watch he noticed that it was just after 2.30am. No point in trying to sleep now, he'd only be torturing his back some more. He may as well get some coffee and check those phone records he'd requested.

The previous day, he'd found himself wondering if van Borough was the only connection between Roadhog Transport and Alvaretti Enterprises. Although he knew it was a long shot, he couldn't shake the feeling. He'd ordered a list of calls that had been made and received by both companies in the past six months and began scanning the numbers.

Although the FBI had some new fangled computer program thingy, that highlighted any number dialled more than once, or flagged a number on a watch list, he still preferred to run his eyes over the lists and see for himself if any of them jumped off the page. Call him old fashioned but he figured that computers were only as good as the person who designed the program and if that person did not have the instincts of a seasoned investigator? Well….that was why he preferred to look for himself.

Twenty minutes later he'd scanned just over two thirds of the pages when every muscle in his body went taught.

_It couldn't be._

Checking again, he lifted his phone from the desk and dialled the number on the page. Immediately a phone started ringing in the outer office and a chill ran down his spine. He stood and moved to the door, searching the empty office for the extension. He gasped audibly as he located the ringing phone on a vacant desk; one not used since the murder of his young partner, Jake Patterson, twelve months ago.

His stomach twisted and a cold fist of betrayal settled in his gut as he replaced the receiver and collecting his keys. He locked his office door and took the elevator to the parking lot. Clearing the building, he walked determinedly to his car and once inside he withdrew his cell and pressed speed dial 5. It was answered on the first ring.

"Tobias?"

"We've got a problem."

"What kinda problem?" Gibbs demanded and noticed Tony tense up, his hand moving to rest on the weapon cradled in his shoulder holster.

"A security problem. Someone at the Roadhog Transport placed several calls last month to a phone in my department," Fornell confessed reluctantly. "This is bad, Gibbs."

"Ya think, Tobias?" Gibbs snapped. "How many of your people know we're here with van Borough?"

"The two teams on protection detail, Warren and me, that's ten agents," he said carding his fingers through thinning hair. "I've known them all for a long time, I can't believe any of them would be involved...but they all had access to that phone. How do you want to handle it?"

"Sounds like the problem is FBI," Gibbs replied. "NCIS will take it from here. You plug that leak!"

"If we're right, you're going to need backup," Fornell reminded.

"If we're right, Tobias, the less people who know where we are, the better. DiNozzo and I are going off grid," Gibbs snapped the phone shut and turned to face Tony. "Go wake the beast, we're moving."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

They had been driving for just on an hour, trying but failing to tune out the incessant whining of their disgruntled passenger who was still complaining bitterly about his disturbed sleep.

"I'm telling you, Boss, nothing's worth this," Tony said, turning around in his seat to face the accountant. "I say we dump his whiny ass on the side of the road and take our chances without his testimony."

"Well excuse me," the older man said indignantly. "I'm just not used to all this clandestine activity in the middle of the night and I'm _starving_! Those horrible sandwiches for lunch _and _dinner and I didn't even get a decent breakfast!"

"Oh, hey, you're in luck!" Tony said reaching for his backpack. "I forgot that I packed you a little something before we left."

Gibbs watched in the rear view mirror as van Borough's expression transformed into a look of genuine surprise and appreciation.

"You did?" van Borough said. "I may have misjudged you, Agent DiNozzo, that was really very thoughtful of you."

"It was nothing," Tony replied, tossing a brown paper bag to the accountant. "I packed you a sandwich. _Bon appétit!"_

The former Marine bit back a grin as the accountant's usual sneer returned but his attention was quickly drawn to the lights of another vehicle approaching from behind, along the otherwise deserted mountain road.

"We got company," he warned calmly and Tony slid his hand inside his jacket and wrapped his fingers around his Sig Sauer.

Twisting around in his seat, Tony watched as the gap between their car and the approaching vehicle quickly narrowed.

"Must've been waiting and pulled out when we passed or we would have seen it coming," Tony replied.

"It could be a coincidence," van Borough offered.

"Don't believe in them," the agents said together as Tony placed a hand on Horst's neck and pushed him down on the seat.

"Get down and stay down," he ordered as the accountant opened his mouth to complain.

Gibbs knew the twists and turns of the mountain road would provide their best chance to lose their pursuers so he stamped down hard on the pedal and the odometer needle jumped violently.

Onward they sped, the gap between the two cars slowly diminishing as they neared the start of another steep incline that wound its way up into the mountains. The darkness and the glare of high beam headlights made it impossible to make out the shape and colour of the vehicle as it came up behind them.

"Grab the spare clips, Tony, and buckle up" Gibbs snapped.

"Buckling up, Boss."

Tony leaned forward and rummaged in the glove compartment finding eight spare clips. He slipped four of them into his jacket pocket, stuffing the other four into Gibbs'. That done, he grabbed a small flashlight, checked the buckle on his seat belt and twisted around to watch the approaching vehicle as Gibbs expertly negotiated the sharp bends.

The pursuing SUV was only a few yards behind now and Tony could just make out the shape of the men in the front seat. The driver pressed his foot to the gas pedal and nudged the sedan roughly from behind then swerved suddenly and attempted to come alongside. Gibbs pulled the wheel swiftly to the left and cut him off, forcing him to stamp hard on the brake.

Tony squinted hard at the occupants of the car. "Four men, Boss," he said. "Could be military"

The car tyres caught the dirt edge of the road and it swerved dangerously toward the rail, the driver fighting the wheel to bring all four wheels back onto the sealed surface.

"How can you tell?" Horst piped up from his place on the rear seat.

"Cos nobody _chooses_ to wear their hair like that, my friend," Tony quipped before snapping his head around to send Gibbs an apologetic smile. "Not that there's anything wrong with that style, Boss."

The man in the passenger seat opened his side window and fired a short burst of gunfire at the Dodge, causing Gibbs to swerve abruptly. Tony flinched as a round smashed into the mirror beside him.

"Road rage is a serious problem in these parts," he quipped.

"Ya think?" Gibbs replied without taking his eyes off the road.

Opening his own window, Tony poked the Sig Sauer through the gap and fired off a rapid series of shots at the occupants of the other vehicle. The bullets smashed into the hood and shattered the front headlight and the SUV swerved to the left and braked sharply before resuming the chase. The driver continued to play tag with Gibbs and together they ducked and weaved along the road, swerving in and out as the SUV fought to pass the Dodge on the narrow road.

Suddenly a shot crashed through the back window and whistled passed Gibbs ear smashing into the windshield and shattering it into a million tiny prisms and making it near impossible to see ahead. At the same moment the road widened and the SUV made a last ditch effort to pass. Surging forward it caught Gibbs unaware and came alongside the driver's side door. The passenger aimed his weapon at them and prepared to fire as Gibbs wrenched the wheel to the right and slammed his foot on the brake hoping to turn the vehicle in the opposite direction.

A loud bang signalled the front tyre bursting and the sudden loss of pressure caused the wheel to spin out of Gibbs hands as the car pelted forward toward the guardrail.

"Hold on!" Gibbs shouted and they barely had time to shield their faces as the car exploded through the low metal railing and careened down the side of the mountain toward the trees.

The Dodge bucked and twisted its way down the mountain side, small trees and brush screeching and clawing at the metal sides before the nose dug into a small rocky outcrop and the rear end lifted into the air flipping the vehicle end over end.

Inside, Tony and Gibbs upper bodies were held tightly by the seatbelts but their arms and legs danced wildly with every shuddering twist as they fought in vain to keep their heads pressed safely back against the head rests.

Van Borough had been crouching on the floor at the time of the collision and his unrestrained body was tossed about like confetti, crashing one moment against the roof of the car, the next landing hard on the floor. A terrified cry was ripped from his throat followed quickly by several grunts of pain as his body hit the hard edge of the seat.

The Dodge's downward plunge came to an abrupt stop as with a sickening crunch, it slid upside down and crashed into the trunk of a very large tree.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

**A/N Apologies for the longer chapter - there was a lot to get through. Despite the "literal" cliff-hanger, we hope you enjoyed it and will join us for the next chapter.**

**Many thanks for the support, reviews and alerts - we're overwhelmed. Lyn and Laine**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** We do not own the characters mentioned herein and any copyright infringement is unintentional.

**THE INSIDER**

**Chapter Six**

The SUV fishtailed wildly as de Beers fought the wheel and attempted to steer the vehicle away from the shattered guardrail and the cliff lurking ominously below. An ear-piercing screech and the smell of burning rubber preceded a forceful impact with the rock-face on the other side of the road. After a long moment the four men released their collective breath and climbed from the car.

"Check the damage," Botha ordered de Beers and Kruger as he and Morne' ran to the shattered guardrail and peered into the darkness for signs of life below.

They strained their eyes uselessly against the night but it was too dark to make out anything clearly. Only the sounds of shifting earth, creaking metal and falling rocks and vegetation could be heard. Kruger joined them carrying two high-powered flashlights.

"Car's driveable," he said. "Any sign of them?"

Botha grabbed a flashlight and directed it down the side of the mountain. A large outcrop of rock overhung what appeared to be a very steep drop and restricted their view below. They moved along the edge in opposite directions, trying to improve their angle and catch a glimpse of the vehicle.

"There!" Kruger said.

As Botha swung the flashlight in the direction of Kruger's pointing finger, he saw the corner of the overturned vehicle at least 80 yards down the escarpment. One wheel was still spinning and even from a distance the strong stench of smoke, engine oil and gas was evident.

"You think they're alive?" Morne' asked.

"We have to make sure, there's too much at stake," his father replied. "We'll have to move fast, that gas smell is strong, it could ignite."

"There's rope in the car, we could rappel down and take a look," Kruger suggested.

"You're forgetting, my friend, that there are two armed federal agents down there," Botha stated. "If one or both of them survived, we'd be sitting ducks climbing down that cliff. They could pick us off without breaking a sweat."

"We can't just hope that they're dead."

"We can't and we won't," Botha growled. "We need to split up. Kruger, take de Beers and go 500 yards north. Park the car where it won't be seen from the road. Rappel down and make your way back to the wreck. Morne' and I will do the same from the south. One way or another, they won't survive that wreck."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

'_How the hell did this happen?'_ Fornell thought.

It was extremely unnerving to find himself in a position where he was unable to rely on his own agency or his own people to watch his back. The feeling of betrayal cut deeply and made him sick to his stomach. But here he was…sitting in the passenger seat of an NCIS vehicle; Special Agent Balboa sitting quietly by his side as they waited authorisation to enter Jacques Botha's home and take him in for questioning. Just down the street, another vehicle arrived and NCIS Special Agents Miller and Foley awaited the signal to move in.

The street was dark and quiet, the type of neighbourhood where people would be tucked up in bed at this hour. As he watched and waited his mind replayed the earlier scene at the NCIS Director's home.

_Flashback_

"The director will see you now, Agent Fornell." The agent on protection detail indicated the door to the right.

Fornell nodded his thanks and strode into the den.

Clad in pyjamas and robe, NCIS director, Tom Morrow, looked thoroughly annoyed as he pushed back his chair and stood to greet the visitor.

"Agent Fornell, what brings you to my home at this hour?" Morrow asked abruptly.

"I'm sorry, Sir, this couldn't wait," Fornell apologised.

"Have you never heard of a telephone?" Morrow snapped.

"I believe that there is a leak on the van Borough operation. I didn't want to risk using an FBI phone."

"What kind of leak?" Morrow asked.

"I have reason to believe that in the past month, an FBI field agent has been in direct telephone contact with someone from the Roadhog Transport Company."

"Who?"

"I'm not sure. Several calls were made from the trucking depot to a vacant desk in my operations room – any one could have picked up those calls."

"Just how many of these agents know where Gibbs and DiNozzo went to collect van Borough?" the director asked tersely.

"Including myself…ten," Fornell admitted.

"Have you alerted Gibbs?"

"I contacted him an hour ago and he insisted on moving van Borough immediately. He wouldn't give me the location over the phone, can't say I blame him."

"There's only one road in and out of River Hollow. You'd better hope like hell that they got out of there undetected," Morrow replied angrily.

He strode to his desk and snatched the telephone receiver from its cradle.

"Get me Gibbs or DiNozzo immediately!" he ordered as he began mentally sorting alternate locations where Gibbs might transfer the witness. A long minute passed before Morrow spoke again.

"Keep trying. Let me know the minute you have them. Contact the sheriff of River Hollow County and get someone out there to check the cabin. _I don't care what time it is, I have two agents and a witness whose safety has been compromised!"_

He slammed the phone down forcefully and carded long fingers through his hair. "Their cells are out of the service area," he said worriedly.

"I'd like to be involved, Director," Fornell insisted.

"Until you plug that leak, Agent Fornell, I don't want the FBI anywhere near my agents or the witness," Morrow asserted.

"Then let me go with the NCIS back up team," Fornell persisted. "Please."

Morrow hesitated while he considered the heated discussion he was destined to have with his counterpart at FBI. Director Hewitt would be furious that his agency was being excluded from the operation, despite the fact that the leak was more than likely one of his own agents. Morrow sighed, he could understand wanting to clean up your own mess and knew it would help salve Fornell's pride if he allowed the other man's continued involvement. He didn't know Fornell well but he did know Gibbs. If Leroy Jethro Gibbs trusted this man, that was good enough for him.

"Alright, but _only_ you and you leave your FBI vehicle and cell behind. We'll supply you with a temporary cell when you meet up with Agent Balboa and his team," Morrow lifted his phone and began dialling. "I'll let them know to expect you and I'll call your Director and report what's happened."

"Thank you, Sir." Turning, Fornell let himself out and headed for his car and NCIS headquarters.

By the time Fornell had arrived at the Navy yard, Morrow had brought Balboa and his team up to speed on the latest developments and had despatched one team of agents to the Roadhog Transport depot while Fornell and Balboa's team headed to the home of Jacques Botha.

With the lives of two of their own in jeopardy, there was no longer any reason to delay bringing Jacques and Morne' Botha in for questioning. In the pit of his stomach, Fornell already knew what they'd find.

_End Flashback_

His temporary cell rang and he answered with an abrupt "Fornell."

"This is Director Morrow. The deputy from River Hollow reports there's no sign of Gibbs and DiNozzo at the cabin. They may have got lucky and have made it out," Morrow said.

"Wouldn't Gibbs make contact?"

"When dealing with Special Agent Gibbs, I've learned to expect the unexpected. He'll call when he can. My team have arrived at Roadhog Transport and advised that the place is locked up tight. Tell Balboa that when you're ready at your end, you are cleared to proceed…watch your backs."

"Yes, Sir," Fornell said, snapping his cell closed. "Let's do it."

"Let's go!" Balboa repeated into the microphone and the agents climbed from the cars and approached the house.

Signalling for the other two agents to cover the rear, Fornell and Balboa walked up the steps and knocked firmly on the door. They waited a few moments and knocked again. When there was no answer, Balboa stepped back and forced the door with his foot and they entered the house.

Moving quickly and quietly, they cleared each room and found the house was empty.

"Balboa! Agent Fornell!" Miller called from the den.

They moved quickly into the room and stopped when they saw the open gun cabinet and several empty boxes of rifle shells lying on the nearby sideboard.

"Looks like the Bothas have gone hunting," Miller remarked.

"Oh yeah, they've gone hunting all right," Fornell snapped and stormed out of the house.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Silence filled the car, broken only by the patter of gravel and dirt raining down upon them and the harsh indrawn breaths of the occupants as they fought to take in what had transpired.

Gibbs was first to react; he shook his head carefully, wincing as the stiffness in his neck and shoulders protested and he did a quick inventory of his body checking for other injuries. His legs had been battered against the underside of the console and steering column. He flexed his left leg, which seemed fine, no problems there. Gingerly he moved the right and felt a spasm of pain in his bad knee.

_Damn! It hurt like a sonofabitch. _

He reached down to unbuckle his seat belt and pain stole along his wrist and up his arm. Feeling with his other hand, he found that the second finger of his left hand was twisted in a very unnatural direction. Swearing softly under his breath, Gibbs held the hand across his chest and looked toward Tony who he could hear wriggling about in his harness.

"Tony?" he called anxiously. "Tony?"

"I'm fine, Boss. Shaken, not stirred but otherwise okay," he grunted. "But next time, I recommend we spring for valet parking."

Still held by his seat belt in an upside down position, Tony did his own physical inventory and realised the sting of a cut eyebrow and the warm sticky blood flowing into his hairline - the results of a head clash he couldn't even recall.

"Can you unbuckle your seat belt?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah, no problem," Tony deftly released the clasp, grunting when he dropped in a heap onto the roof of the upturned vehicle.

"You okay?" the lead agent asked again.

"Yeah," the younger man replied, gently prodding his tender abdomen. "The seat belt worked me over a little but I'm fine."

"Give me a hand with mine," Gibbs muttered as Tony struggled to right himself, panting as he drew his long legs up and twisted his length into a sitting position.

"You hurt, Boss?" he asked, hearing the pain in the lead agent's voice.

"Broken finger, it's not bad" Gibbs voice was terse as the finger began to throb. A short silence stretched between them and Gibbs knew that the younger agent was wondering what he was hiding. "Knee's not good," he confessed and received a small grunt in reply.

"Hey, Horst, you okay back there, man?" Tony called to the unresponsive man in the back as he worked the buckle on Gibbs safety belt. "Horst? Ah, Boss...I think we've got another problem. Looks like Horst forgot his seat belt and just made like a crash test dummy."

Finally Tony managed to unclip Gibbs' harness and as the older agent dropped and began to right himself. Moving gingerly and grunting from the effort, Tony squeezed his way carefully between the front bucket seats to the rear of the vehicle.

Feeling around in the dark, he located the accountant lying motionless in a twisted heap, his skin clammy and eyes closed. He felt for a pulse in van Borough's neck and was grateful to locate a steady rhythm as he quickly assessed the man's condition.

"Got a pulse, Boss. No obvious signs of injury, no bleeding or broken bones that I can feel," he reported. "He must have hit his head on something."

"Wake him, Tony. We need to get the hell out of here before those guys arrive to finish the job," Gibbs instructed. "Get him out as quietly as you can. I'll keep watch."

Gibbs dragged his body through the broken side window, stood and stretched, hissing as his bones realigned themselves. He bent in a low crouch beside the wrecked car, Sig drawn and eyes flicking back and forth in search of a threat. He estimated they'd hurtled at least eighty yards down the mountainside, the terrain nearest to them baring deep gouges where the car had dug in and kicked up the dirt. Looking back at their steep descent, he thanked whatever God was watching that they'd made it out of the twisted wreck alive.

Above him, a sharp outcrop of rock blocked his view of the road and hid them from their pursuers. He could hear the SUV reversing and coming to a stop at the break in the guardrail. Doors slammed shut and indistinct voices carried on the breeze. Even without hearing the words, Gibbs was certain the men were planning to descend the slope and check for survivors.

The doors of the SUV slammed again and the vehicle moved off to the north. Given the lay of the land, Gibbs knew instinctively that their plan was to find a safer way down and flank them on both sides.

Inside the car, Tony had managed to wake the accountant and was trying to drag him out of the vehicle.

"Hey, Horst, why weren't you wearing your seat belt, man? You never heard of 'buckle up for safety?' 'Belt up and live?" Tony quipped. "You've obviously never driven with Gibbs before."

"Tony?" Gibbs voice whispered from outside.

"Yeah, Boss, he's conscious. I'm bringing him out now."

The younger man's voice was strained and the team leader hoped it was caused by the effort involved in steering the disoriented man in the confined space rather than something more sinister.

He emerged a moment later, feet first through the window as he half encouraged; half dragged the accountant behind him. Awareness suddenly returned to van Borough and he struggled against Tony's hold and attempted to climb back into the wreck.

"Horst, what the hell are you doing?" Tony whispered. "Take it easy, we're the good guys, remember? We're trying to save your whiny ass…and you're very welcome, by the way."

"Let me go! Let me go! I need my glasses," Horst slurred, pointing at the glasses case that was barely visible on the other side of the car.

"What?" Tony exclaimed aghast.

"My glasses," he repeated anxiously. "I won't leave without them! I need my reading glasses!"

The older man held tightly to the car door, refusing to move until his glasses were retrieved.

"DiNozzo, what's the hold-up?" Gibbs hissed impatiently from his position at the rear of the car.

"No hold-up, Boss, we're coming," Tony replied, trying to prise the man's fingers from the door.

"I won't go without my reading glasses!" Horst insisted. "You get them or I will."

Completely stunned by the accountant's unreasonable behaviour, Tony huffed in resignation as he crawled back into the twisted wreck.

"What was I thinking?" he muttered sarcastically. "Of course you need your reading glasses. Cause even though there are guys up there with guns trying to kill us, we may get lucky and find a copy of the New York Times! Then while we're saving your sorry ass, you can read your horoscope and do the crossword!"

As he awkwardly manipulated his long frame and emerged from the wreck, Horst snatched the small glasses case from his hand, immediately flipping the lid open and checking for damage.

"You're welcome," Tony commented scornfully. "Still got your wallet?"

He took a moment to enjoy the van Borough's panicked expression as he reached and found the wallet still in his pocket.

"Wouldn't want to lose that rubber," Tony sniped. A bright smile lit up the young agent's face then disappeared just as quickly. "Wait here."

Tony joined Gibbs and crouched at the rear of the vehicle, peering cautiously around the car and up the slope. The moonlight cast an eerie glow across the mountainside and helped to illuminate the scene.

"Think they'll climb down?" he asked.

"Count on it. But they won't do it here, they'd be too exposed," Gibbs said. "My guess is they'll split up and try to flank us."

"So, they haven't seen us yet?" Tony asked.

"Nope," Gibbs replied, as he considered their options for escape. "We need a diversion. It'll take ém about twenty minutes to get here. Take van Borough into the trees and head due west. The map at the cabin showed the road winds back around the other side of the mountain, there's a ranger's station about five miles from here. Don't stop for anything."

"What about you?"

"I'll set fire to the car and cover our tracks. They won't know whether we're in the car or not and they'll have to check. Go! I'll catch up with you."

Tony met his boss' eyes and read the pain that the older agent tried so stubbornly to hide.

"All due respects, Boss, but I'm faster than you – with or without your dodgy knee. I'll do it."

The bright smile flashed again but Gibbs recognised the stubborn set of the younger man's jaw as he began tearing a strip of fabric from the lining of his jacket. Gibbs took his agent's chin with one hand and turned the man's face at an angle. He frowned at the split eyebrow and the crimson streaks adding a garish look to an already pale face.

"Any headache or dizziness?"

"Nope," he said firmly, jerking his head free of Gibbs' close scrutiny. "Like I told you, I'm just a little sore from the seat belt. I can do this, Gibbs."

About to argue, Gibbs felt again the jab of pain as he leaned his weight on his injured leg. He examined his partner's determined expression for an uncomfortably long moment, looking for any sign that the younger man was hiding a more serious injury and then gave a short nod of acceptance.

"Watch your six," he said tossing Tony his Zippo.

"Al-ways," Tony replied catching it easily.

He helped lift van Borough to his feet and waited until Gibbs took as much of the accountant's weight as he could bear as they headed further into the forest.

Stuffing one end of the fabric strip into the gas tank, Tony felt about for a small branch to poke it further down the filler pipe. Satisfied with his efforts, he was just about to light the fire when he caught sight of his backpack still in the car. Placing a protective hand over his tender midsection, he leaned into the vehicle and grabbed his backpack and a small first aid kit usually kept under the passenger seat.

Regaining his feet, he flicked the Zippo and lit the protruding end of the fabric, waiting as the flames began to lick at the side of the vehicle. He shouldered his backpack and picked up a small branch that had been broken as the car burst through the foliage, carefully sweeping away all traces of their footprints. With one last desperate look around, he quickly made his escape into the woods.

He was just twenty yards in when the low boom of the gas tank igniting rent the air and he circled back a little way to see if the diversion had worked. From his vantage point behind a large tree, Tony watched as two men warily approached the burning vehicle from the north, the flames casting eerie shadows behind them as they edged closer.

The intense heat made it impossible to get too close or to see if anyone had escaped. As they approached he was able, for the first time, to see their faces clearly and recognised the two men whom Abby had identified as Markus de Beers and Hansie Kruger.

Moments later, Jacques and Morne' Botha approached from the south. The crackling and hissing noises coming from the fire, made it difficult to hear what they were saying but Tony could just make out their angry voices. With much gesticulating, Botha seemed to be insisting that they wait for the fire to burn down so that they could check the car.

"Wait?" Kruger challenged. "We don't even know if they're in there. They could have escaped before the car went up."

"We wait. The fire will burn itself out soon and then we will check to see if anyone's survived," Botha insisted. "There are no tracks leading from the car. Why go racing off into the woods if they're already dead?"

"I tell you we are wasting precious time!" Kruger snarled through gritted teeth. "It will be daylight soon and the smoke will be seen from the road. We can't afford to give them too much of a head start".

"You saw how that car cart wheeled down the slope," de Beers tried to reason with Kruger. "If anyone did get out, odds are they're hurt. They won't get far."

"Alright, have it your own way," Kruger snapped and stomped off to stand a few yards away and stare morosely at the flames that engulfed the Dodge and the acrid black smoke, billowing into the dark sky.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Tony cautiously left his hiding place and keeping low, turned to retrace his steps to where Gibbs and the accountant had made their escape. Even for someone without training, picking up their trail had been easy as Gibbs struggled to keep the accountant on his feet and moving forward.

Tony proceeded to follow them as best he could in the moonlight and the tracks led to a small stream where they disappeared from sight. Knowing Gibbs, he'd probably dragged the other man downstream a ways before stepping back onto the bank. Tony waded straight into the icy water, gasping as the frigid water lapped at his ankles and seeped into his sneakers. Ignoring the dull ache from his abdomen, he leaned forward, scooped the fresh water into his hands and washed the dried blood from his face.

It wouldn't be long before Botha and his men realised that they'd survived the wreck, picked up the trail and began to hunt them down. With the accountant groggy from his knock on the head and Gibbs' knee giving him hell, Tony would need to create some more diversions if they were to have any chance at all. But first, he had to find Gibbs and get them as far away as possible.

With his eyes straining in the moonlight, he bent forward and followed the muddy bank downstream slipping and sliding as he went, on the moss covered rocks beneath the surface. Finally, he came to the place that Gibbs had chosen to leave the stream and stepping up onto the bank, he set off as quickly as he could in the dark, stumbling a few times as his foot caught on exposed tree roots and rocks. He'd covered only 400 yards when a dark shape loomed out of the trees ahead and he checked his speed and slowed to a stop.

"Gibbs?"

"Yeah, it's me," Gibbs replied. "Heard you coming loud and clear."

"Didn't think I had to worry about what's in front of me, Boss," Tony smiled. "How's Horst?"

"Not good. He can barely walk and is getting weaker," Gibbs replied.

"The diversion worked, Botha and his friends are waiting until the fire dies down but it won't be long before they come after us," Tony commented, assisting an unresisting van Borough to the ground then opening his backpack.

"What are you doing?" the former Marine asked. "It'll be light soon; we need to put as much distance between them and us while we still have the cover of darkness."

"We'll get where we're going a lot faster once he's had a some water and I've strapped your knee," the younger man said, extracting the first aid kit from the pack.

After a worried glance toward the heavily forested treeline, Gibbs reluctantly acquiesced and took a seat on a nearby log.

He watched as Tony removed a bottle of water from the backpack and quietly coerced the ailing accountant to take a few sips. Van Borough still carried his reading glasses case, taloned in one white-knuckled hand. In a quiet but firm voice, the young agent convinced him to relinquish his hold and he placed it in his backpack for safekeeping.

In the improving light, Tony could see the sickly pallor of the man and he ran his hands over van Borough's ribs and abdomen searching again for injuries. Tony raised the other man's shirt revealing significant bruising on his left side toward his ribs. Van Borough gave a strangled cry as Tony gently prodded under the man's left shoulder.

He spoke quietly again to the older man before grabbing an elastic bandage from the kit and turning to face Gibbs. He tossed the former Marine a roll of sticking plaster and a blister pack of Tylenol.

"Better tape that broken finger to the one next to it or your career as a classical pianist is all over," he said dryly.

Gibbs dry swallowed the painkillers, tore a strip of sticking plaster and winced as he wound the tape around his fingers.

"Pants on or off?" the younger man asked biting back a grin that desperately wanted to escape.

"On!" Gibbs growled indignantly, leaning to roll the leg of his jeans above his knee and revealing a hideously bruised and swollen joint.

"Looks painful," Tony commented. "Strapping won't help much."

"It'll help enough."

Tony's brow was furrowed in concentration as he quickly and efficiently strapped his team leader's knee.

"How's that feel?"

"Better," Gibbs replied, cautiously flexing the knee to test it. "Finally putting that Phys Ed degree to work?"

"Van Borough's gonna need more than a Phys Ed degree, Boss, I think he's ruptured his spleen," he said quietly. "Seen a few injuries like that while I was playing football. He won't make it to the ranger's station. We're gonna have to find a place to hide him."

"No!" van Borough replied frantically trying to sit up but lacking the coordination. "They'll find me and they'll kill me."

"Tony's right," Gibbs stated. "We'll find a place where you'll be safe and we'll lead them away from you."

"No, please!" van Borough begged. "Please don't leave me here! They'll kill me for sure."

"We keep dragging you through the woods, _we_ could kill you," Gibbs reasoned.

"I'll take my chances," the accountant replied, his eyes desperately pleading. "I'm going to die anyway…please, Agent Gibbs, don't leave me here!"

Gibbs glanced in the direction of his partner, meeting his steady gaze and then nodding in muted agreement. They heaved the accountant to his feet and then with both agents sharing the load, they set off further into the woods, literally dragging van Borough between them.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

They'd covered just over a mile when the sun started to peek above the horizon, the black sky making way for the muted orange and pink tones of early morning. Visibility improved substantially, making their stumbles less frequent and they were able to increase their pace for a time.

Pausing on a slight rise, Gibbs signalled for Tony to take van Borough's weight then turned to face the way they'd come and searched the sky. A slim column of greyish smoke rising heavenward in the distance indicated that the fire had burned down sufficiently for their pursuers to search for bodies. Finding none, they would definitely be after them now and given their paramilitary backgrounds, he didn't expect it to take very long before they picked up the trail.

"Think they're coming after us yet?" Tony asked.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes and peered into the trees behind. "Oh yeah, they're coming."

"We can't out run them. Not with your bad knee and a lame Horst," Tony said, casting a concerned eye over the pale features of the accountant.

"No, but we can slow them down, give them something or someone else to chase," said Gibbs. An understanding look passed between the two men.

"I'll hang back, try to lead them off in another direction," Tony volunteered.

Gibbs was silent a moment while he considered their options. Van Borough had shown a steady decline as they'd half carried and half dragged him through the woods. His skin was clammy and his eyes were dull, barely showing any interest in his surroundings. If they continued on ahead, before too long, their pursuers would catch up and they'd be outnumbered and outgunned. The only chance they had was to make it to the ranger's station and call for backup and to do that, they needed more time.

Reluctantly, he admitted that his partner's fitness and speed was their best chance of escape. Gibbs pulled the spare clips from his pocket and handed them to Tony.

"You'll need these. Go as fast as you can, circle around and get behind them. They'll be spread out so go wide or you'll run right into them. If you're quiet, you can take ém one at a time. Swing the odds back to our favour. You got your knife?"

Tony nodded. "Rule number nine," he stated as seriously as Gibbs had ever seen him.

"These guys are professional trackers and paid killers. Don't underestimate them and don't hesitate to take them down if you have to. Keep away from those rock formations and stay in the woods. If they corner you on those cliffs you've got no cover and nowhere to go."

"I gotcha, Boss," Tony replied as he took the clips and stowed them in his pocket. He transferred van Borough's weight to Gibbs and hooked his backpack over Gibbs' shoulder.

"The first aid kit and water are in there - you need those more than I do," he said, taking a few steps toward the woods.

"Hey!" the former Marine called, struggling to find his voice.

The partners exchanged a look and whatever message Gibbs was silently sending was understood as Tony replied with an almost imperceptible nod of his head.

"See you in a couple of hours."

Gibbs watched with a frown of concern furrowing his brow and a twisting sensation in his gut as the younger man re-entered the woods. Then, with van Borough's arm across his shoulders, he turned and started to move as quickly as possible in the opposite direction.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

**A/N Scene's all set for an action-packed chapter seven. Hope you'll join us when Tony's attempt to stall their pursuers ends catastrophically.**

**Thank you, again, for your encouraging reviews, alerts and PM's and to those anonymous reviewers we can't respond to personally.**

**Lyn and Laine**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** We do not own the characters mentioned herein and any copyright infringement is unintentional.

A/N Laine and I are very grateful for your continued support, reviews and alerts. We hope you enjoy this chapter!

**The Insider**

**Chapter Seven**

Fornell was returning to the Navy yard with Special Agent Balboa when Director Morrow called his temporary cell. In a brief conversation with his FBI counterpart, Director Hewitt, had made it abundantly clear that he was none too pleased that Fornell had made himself available to NCIS without proper authorisation, while seemingly shunning his own agency.

Fornell sighed heavily knowing that sooner or later he would have to face his irate director and the consequences of his actions. In the meantime, he felt a misplaced guilt and an overwhelming obligation to help find Gibbs, DiNozzo and the witness and bring them safely home.

Morrow then delivered a message concerning one of Fornell's colleagues that almost floored the FBI agent. He completed the call, knowing that if he was to gather indisputable evidence on the FBI informant, he needed the help of an impartial party.

As the elevator doors slid open, Fornell was immediately assaulted by the ear-splitting music bursting from the forensic lab. Wincing and resisting the temptation to stick his fingers in his ears, he walked tentatively into the lab and looked around for the Goth scientist.

He had always been a little wary of Abigail Scuito. Although Gibbs had an unshakable belief in her brilliance, Fornell had always found her to be a little…odd. The adage, 'there's a fine line between genius and insanity' leapt into his mind as he braced himself against the music and looked at the bizarre skeleton dolls and the rather macabre artwork. If he wasn't mistaken, a technicoloured likeness of a mortal wound to the cerebellum appeared to take pride of place.

He spotted Abby working at her counter, raven-coloured pigtails bobbing to the mind-numbing beat of the music.

"Miss Scuito," he said, trying to make himself heard over the music. "Miss Scuito!"

Receiving no response he stepped up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder.

Unexpectedly, his hand was grasped in her surprisingly strong grip as she executed a near perfect thumb-lock. A startled yelp escalated to a strangled yell as a thick platform boot stomped mercilessly on his left foot.

Before he knew what had happened, an elbow was driven into his solar plexus and the air rushed from his lungs with a loud whoosh. She quickly stepped in front of him, holding what looked suspiciously like a small can of mace.

"Hold it right there, pervert!" Abby yelled, reaching with her free hand for the remote and stopping the music.

"Miss Scuito!" Fornell's breathless gasp sounded pathetic to his own ears.

"Agent Fornell!" Abby exclaimed in total surprise. "Oh my God! Are you alright! You scared me! You should know better than to sneak up behind a defenceless woman!"

"Defenceless," he repeated derisively while rubbing his tender sternum. "You call that defenceless?"

"A girl needs to be able to defend herself from attackers…and I had a very good teacher."

"Gibbs?"

"No, Sister Rosita," Abby explained.

"Sister? As in nun?" the FBI agent groaned internally thinking about the ribbing he was likely to get when Gibbs heard about this…or worse…his smart-mouthed, smiling sidekick!

"You betcha!" she said grinning at Fornell's expression. "Don't look so surprised, the convent is in a tough part of town. For their own protection the sisters have learned how to kick some serious butt. Now, did you need anything or did you, like, just want to take a few years off my life."

"I need your help," Fornell told her soberly, still flexing his throbbing thumb. "The wife of one of my agents called the office last night to speak with him. He told her he was on duty but I'd sent him home several hours before. He's had a few unexplained absences lately."

"You want me to get note from his mother or do you think he could be the leak?" Abby asked.

"He knew where Gibbs and DiNozzo were, he was missing when someone ransacked van Borough's apartment and he's been acting…suspiciously," Fornell confessed reluctantly.

Abby nodded her understanding. "How can I help?"

"I need you to check his cell records, see if you can find any calls to or from Roadhog Transport and check any other commonly used numbers."

"What about your own people?"

"It was one of my people who got Gibbs and DiNozzo into this mess. I don't want to take the chance of them finding out we're on to them."

"Okay. What's the name of your agent?"

Fornell sighed deeply still unable to believe this man would betray the Bureau. How could this man, who he'd trusted to watch his back many times, sell his badge to anyone let alone someone like Jacques Botha?

"Agent Mark Warren," he replied as he gave Abby his business card. "I've written Warren's cell number on the back – my temporary cell's on the front."

Abby silently assessed the FBI agent. He was a proud and loyal man and despite maintaining a gruff exterior, she could see the pain of betrayal in his eyes.

"I'll let you know when I have something," she said.

Fornell forced a grin and, limping slightly, he headed for the elevator when Abby's voice sounded again.

"Agent Fornell?" she chewed at her bottom lip anxiously. "Bring them home."

He gave a solemn nod of his head and stepped into the waiting elevator.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

"Over here," de Beers called from further downstream.

The three other men followed the sound of his voice and met up by the muddy bank of the creek. As Gibbs had predicted, their pursuers had spread out, looking for tracks they could follow.

"Looks like they left the creek here and went deeper into the forest," de Beers said pointing to the footprints.

The men followed the tracks another four hundred yards and stopped in a small clearing just before another tree line.

"I was right," Botha said smugly. "They're hurt."

"How do you know?" Morne' asked, lacking the tracking experience of the other three men.

"Look at these footprints. There are three types of shoes; sneakers, a heavy tread sole like a desert boot and street shoes. The street shoe prints would be van Borough. See how they've been dragging? Sometimes, they leave a deep impression and other times shallow – he's hurt and they're taking his weight."

"That'll slow them down," Kruger said.

"Looks like desert boots is injured, too," Botha continued. "The imprint of his left foot is deeper than his right and the stride is longer – he's favouring his right leg."

"And the third?" de Beers asked.

"Sneakers. He got lucky – long, loping strides of a runner."

"Sloan," Morne' spat the name.

"He's been hanging back, bringing up the rear. Looks like he caught up with them here."

Morne's brow furled in confusion. "How can you tell?"

"All the way along, we've followed three sets of tracks. Usually the prints from the sneakers overlap the other shoes, meaning the sneakers were following behind. This is the first place where the prints from the other shoes have also overlapped the sneakers," Botha explained to his son, pointing out the relevant footprints.

"So the three of them were here together?"

"Yes, and prints lead off this way. I'll follow the main trail but the rest of you spread out and watch for any signs that they've laid a false trail. Let's go."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Fornell took the elevator up to the operations room and stepped into the bullpen where Special Agent Balboa and his team stood in deep discussion with Director Morrow and Special Agent Miller.

"Agent Fornell," Morrow nodded to the FBI Supervisory Agent.

"Any luck?" Fornell enquired.

"No. There was no sign of Gibbs and DiNozzo at any of the NCIS safe houses," the director replied.

"Anyone have any ideas where they might go?"

"If you're talking about Gibbs, he's probably laying low in some deserted cabin or fishing shack in the backwoods," Balboa said.

"But if you're talking about Tony, he could be running up a tab at some five star hotel," Miller added with a grin.

"That's assuming they made it back from River Hollow," Fornell stated.

"You think they've run into trouble?" Morrow asked.

"I got a bad feeling about this, Director," Fornell replied, raising an eyebrow as the phone on Gibbs' desk began to ring and Balboa moved quickly to answer it.

"Special Agent Gibbs' desk," he spoke into the phone then tensed as he listened to the caller on the other end. "What time was this?...Ok. Don't touch anything, we're on our way."

Balboa cut the call and turned to face the others. "That was the Maryland State Police. A trooper patrolling the road into the River Hollow State Park came across a break in the guardrail. When he stopped to investigate, he found the burnt out remains of a dark blue Dodge Intrepid at the base of a cliff. They traced the plates to NCIS."

"Gibbs and DiNozzo?" Morrow asked with thinly disguised concern.

"Car was empty, there was no sign of them," Balboa replied grimly.

"Where exactly was the car found?" Fornell asked.

"About eighty miles out of River Hollow," Balboa replied.

Anticipating the next command, Agent Miller quickly had an aerial map of that location projected onto the large plasma screen.

"If they made it out of the wreck, they're in the middle of nowhere," Balboa stated.

"The car was _empty_," Morrow repeated. "They made it out alright."

"I think I know where they could be headed," Fornell said pointing to the map. "That ranger's station at Brown's Point is only about five miles from the wreck. If they know it's there, it would be the logical place to go."

"Balboa, you and Miller assemble your teams. I'll have a chopper standing by at Anacostia," Morrow instructed.

"Director?" Fornell let the unspoken request hang in the air but Morrow heard it loud and clear.

"Go!" Morrow ordered.

He watched as Fornell hurried to join Balboa and his team by the elevator.

"I'm already off Director Hewitt's Christmas card list," he muttered to himself. "May as well be banned from his poker games, too."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Tony slowed as he approached the small clearing and taking cover behind the trunk of a large tree, scanned the far tree line for signs of movement. He'd made good time as he'd circled back and if his calculations were right, he should now be slightly behind Botha and his men. It wouldn't be easy to pick them off one by one. Hell, these guys had made their living tracking and fighting in the African jungles and were far more proficient at moving stealthily through this type of terrain than he. If only he hadn't been kicked out of cub scouts for trying to score a few brownie points.

He grimaced as he felt the dull ache of his abdomen. Lifting his shirt he saw the telltale sign of seatbelt trauma and he sighed in relief that the tenderness and bruising was nowhere near as bad as van Borough's injury.

'_Suck it up, DiNozzo,'_ he told himself. Taking a deep breath he cleared his mind of everything except the task at hand. He couldn't fail, there was too much at stake.

Something moved up ahead, just off to his right and he stilled instinctively, eyes narrowing as he concentrated his gaze on the spot where he'd seen the movement.

Nothing.

He waited, barely allowing himself to breathe as he stared and then, there it was. Another flash of movement, barely perceptible, but there nonetheless. Tony squinted hard as he strained to see what had caught his eye and was rewarded when the unmistakeable shape of a man came into view through the trees. Fifty yards away, Markus de Beers stopped suddenly and slowly turned his face, staring across the small clearing in Tony's direction. From his vantage point behind the trees, Tony froze and waited for the man to locate him but after a moment's pause, de Beers hitched the rifle strap higher on his shoulder and continued on.

Expelling his breath slowly, Tony forced his muscles to relax and eased forward to peer around the trunk. There was no sign of Kruger or the Bothas. Gibbs was right, they must have decided to spread out as they made their way through the dense forest.

Replacing the Sig in his shoulder holster, Tony skirted around the clearing, careful to remain within the tree line until he was directly behind de Beers. He bent down and picked up a large rock, momentarily weighing it in his hand as he mentally prepared himself. Then he leaned back and hurled the rock as hard as he could. The rock flew through the air and landed perfectly, about two yards behind de Beers. The man spun around, instantly adopting a defensive crouch as he swung the M16 from his shoulder and scanned the forest for a threat.

Tony froze.

De Beers cocked his head and listened but only the sounds of birds calling and the distant sound of running water floated on the air. Gradually, he straightened and started to move slowly toward where Tony waited silently. He was close now, advancing noiselessly as he crept forward, M16 at the ready. With his heart pounding rapidly against his sternum, Tony took a deep breath and held it as de Beers drew level with his position.

The South African stopped and looked to his left, scanning the nearby trees and rocks. His head slowly swivelled toward Tony, sudden recognition and fear flashed in his eyes a split second before a fist crashed into his face with a sickening crunch. Tony felt the man's nose cartilage give way beneath his knuckles and felt the spurt of warm sticky blood as de Beers' head snapped up and he staggered backward.

Before the man could react, Tony made a grab for the barrel of the rifle and twisted it sharply to the left as he stepped into de Beers and hit him hard in the stomach. De Beers grunted in pain and doubled over, his hand loosening its grip on the M16 as Tony wrenched the weapon from him and tossed it a few feet away. Regaining his balance, de Beers swung blindly at Tony and caught him a glancing blow on the cheek. The two men struggled, muscles straining in their arms as they fought, trading blows and trying at all cost, to get the upper hand.

Tony stumbled on an exposed tree root and de Beers saw his chance, reaching up with both hands he wrapped them around Tony's neck and squeezed with all his might. Tony gasped as the air was choked from him, his face purpling as he strained to break de Beers deadly grip. He extended one hand toward his belt, searching for his knife but couldn't reach it. In desperation he located his Sig, slipping the clasp on the holster he dragged it clear and rammed it into de Beers chest.

"Let…me…go," he gasped, breathlessly staring into the crazed eyes, just inches from his own.

De Beers ignored his warning and tightened his grip. Spots appeared in front of Tony's vision and darkness seemed to creep around the edges as lack of oxygen threatened to make him pass out. The shot rang out through the trees and all around him, birds screeched in protest as their peaceful morning was shattered. Slowly, de Beers released his grip on Tony's throat and with a look of disbelief on his face, slumped slowly to the ground.

Stumbling back, Tony raised a shaking hand to his neck, wincing as he felt the bruising that de Beers' hands had caused to his windpipe. He swallowed gingerly and grimaced as his throat protested the action. He cursed that he had given away his position so soon. The sound of running feet reminded him of the Bothas and Kruger's impending arrival. Momentarily disoriented, he turned started quickly in the opposite direction from Gibbs and van Borough, ruing the fact that he had not thought to pick up the fallen M16. His only consolation was – as soon as they saw de Beers' body - they would be after him and Gibbs and van Borough would have a better chance of making it to the ranger's station.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Gibbs strained under the weight of the other man, shafts of pain shooting through his knee as he carefully lowered van Borough onto the ground. He'd virtually had to carry him for the last few hundred yards, the accountant's legs refusing to function or support him as he slipped in and out of consciousness.

He flexed his aching shoulders and neck, convinced that he had incurred a mild whiplash in the wreck, then squatted down by the man's side, grimacing as pain stabbed through his knee and along his thigh. He noted the increased pallor of van Borough's face and stretched out a hand to touch his skin. Damn! It was like ice.

Leaning closer, he could just make out the rapid, shallow breaths and he pressed his fingers to the accountant's throat to check his pulse. It was racing furiously. With a sinking feeling, Gibbs' realised that the man was not going to make it much further.

He rifled through Tony's backpack and removed the bottle of water, unscrewing the lid quickly and holding it to the other man's lips.

"Van Borough" Gibbs tapped the man's face lightly trying to rouse him. "Van Borough!"

"Wha….whaddya want," he slurred.

"Take some water. Here, small sips."

As Gibbs raised the man's head, van Borough opened his mouth, appearing to savour the cool, wet, liquid but then pressed his lips together in a thin line and shook his head.

"More," Gibbs encouraged.

"No…I have to talk…have to tell you before…" he struggled to a seated position, hissing sharply at the pain the movement caused.

He began to fumble with his shirtsleeve, pulling it up to reveal a small scar on his right shoulder.

"It's there…it's all there," he said breathlessly.

Gibbs looked at the man's shoulder, concerned that he was talking out of his head.

"Lay back," he told the man. "Save your strength."

Van Borough huffed out a laugh that became a harsh cough and left him listless and battling consciousness.

"You have to listen…to me, Gibbs. There's not much…not much time. There's a… a microchip inserted into the… muscle of my shoulder. S'got information…lots of information."

"On Botha's operation?"

The man nodded sluggishly and squeezed his eyes closed against the pain. A long minute passed before he opened them again.

"And Alvaretti. Everything…everything you need. Take it…you must take it."

Gibbs had seen the look of death before, too many times, and there was no mistaking that the accountant had very little time left.

"Promise me, Gibbs," he said with a surprisingly firm hold on the former Marine's forearm. "Promise you'll take it."

Gibbs nodded sombrely. "You have my word."

"Glasses…where's my glasses?" the man sat up suddenly then cried out in agony as pain exploded across his abdomen and chest.

Gibbs reached for him and gently lowered him back to the ground, listening to the man's raspy breaths hitching spasmodically.

"Take it…"

Then his breathing stopped completely and his hand slowly lost its grip of Gibbs' arm and fell away. Gibbs pressed his fingers to the man's throat but there was no pulse. He fought the overwhelming impulse to administer CPR, knowing that van Borough was mortally injured and only immediate surgery could save him.

"Damn!" he cursed softly.

He placed his thumb and forefinger over sightless eyes and gently closed the lids, then shucked off his jacket and covered the dead man's face and upper body.

He took a bracing breath, knowing that he couldn't allow the microchip to fall into the wrong hands. If the Bothas knew about it, they would take it and the evidence against them would be lost. He reached for van Borough's shoulder, feeling the microchip in the muscle beneath his fingertips, then drew his knife and extracted it.

He emptied Tony's backpack onto the ground and examined the contents. A bottle of water; a small flashlight; gum; a snickers bar; yoyo; van Borough's glasses case; zip-tie handcuffs; Tylenol and a small first aid kit.

'_A yoyo?'_ He shook his head and checked the other compartment that contained Tony's socks and shorts and toothbrush, toothpaste and some kind of hair product, packed for their overnight stay.

Carefully wrapping the bloodied microchip in an old candy bar wrapper, he tucked it into Tony's spare socks and tossed the other items back into the pack.

Easing back onto his heels, he ran a tired hand across his face.

Where was DiNozzo?

A gunshot rent the air and Gibbs ignored the shooting pain in his knee as he startled to his feet. He recognised the sound of Tony's Sig - it was both reassuring and worrying. The success of their plan had been dependant on stealth. If Tony had been forced to use his weapon then he was in trouble. He shouldered the pack, drew his own weapon and headed back to find his partner.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Kruger's face was set in granite as he resumed his feet and met Botha's inquiring gaze.

"He's dead," he growled.

The multitude of confused and staggered footprints left them in no doubt that a fight had taken place before de Beers was killed.

"Sneakers," Kruger said.

"Sloan," Morne' corrected.

"He's headed east," Botha grinned predatorily. "Straight for those rock formations. He's going to run out of cover and right into a dead end. Let's go!"

"What about the others?" Morne asked.

"At the rate they're moving, we'll have time to get rid of Sloan and go back for them. Spread out, we'll flank him. Sloan will never know what hit him."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Tony winced as the branches of some prickly shrub penetrated the fabric of his pants and stung the flesh on his legs. Despite the earlier struggle with de Beers, he'd had no trouble maintaining an even pace, weaving his way through the forest, veering every hundred yards or so to mix up the trail and stopping now and then to make sure he was still being pursued.

He'd managed to increase his lead but knew that Kruger and the Botha's experience in bushcraft meant there was no chance to rest; he had to push on. Still, all the changes in course had started to confuse him a little and he worried that he was headed in the wrong direction. He bent at the waist and breathed deeply for a moment before scanning the surrounding area; he needed to check his position and made a mental note to ask Gibbs why he didn't have a rule about always carrying a compass.

About one hundred yards east of his position, the forest thinned out alarmingly and the ground rose sharply as it climbed steeply up the side of the mountains before dropping off into a ravine. He could just make out the sound of the river as it rushed through the gorge, its waters lapping thirstily at the rocky sides of the mountain. He remembered the former Marine's warning to stay in the forest and away from the rock formation but with his pursuers closing in, he had no choice but to proceed.

Turning, he set off in that direction, slowing to a walk as he reached the bluff and began to climb. The ascent was almost vertical in places and Tony had to use all his skill not to slip as loose gravel shifted beneath his feet and rattled down the rock face. Eventually, he reached a small ledge and dragged himself up and over the edge where he lay panting for a few moments to regain his breath.

Raising his head to look around, he was surprised at the extent of the view as he gazed out across the vast canopy of trees. Shielding his eyes from the early morning glare, he looked back along the trail that he'd taken but could see no movement. A small red car in the distance momentarily drew his attention, as it travelled along the road that snaked around the mountain range. He estimated the distance to the site of the car wreck and then looked due west toward the ranger's station at Brown's Point. He wondered how far Gibbs and the accountant had managed to travel.

Satisfied that he had regained his bearings, he pushed himself to his feet and started to edge his way around the ledge. A loud cracking noise sounded from below, followed almost instantaneously by the zing of a bullet as it slammed into the rock behind him. He flattened himself face down against the rocky ledge.

The shot had been fired from a rifle and had come from a point about two hundred yards back along the trail. Obviously his pursuers had increased their pace and had spotted him as he climbed up to the ledge. No doubt they'd be making their way toward him now at even greater speed.

'_So much for leaving false trails_,' he thought. '_These guys must be part blood hound, they're on me already.'_

He eyed the slope that he'd just negotiated and realised that he'd be far too exposed if he tried to climb back down that way. He'd have to find another way down.

He urged himself to think. '_What will they do next? Probably circle around, try to cut me off and pin me down.' _

To his left, light filtered through a narrow fissure in the rocks. It seemed to lead to the other side. The gap was low, barely enough room to lie flat, let alone crawl. Tony was seized by a moment of sheer panic as the thought of being wedged and helpless suddenly overwhelmed him.

'_Get a grip DiNozzo.'_

Determinedly, he forced back his fear and considered his options. It was really the only chance he had. Gingerly he edged his way into the gap and extending his arms in front of him, dragged himself on his stomach inch by inch through the dirt. The damp, musty smell of the earth irritated his nostrils as he clawed his way closer and closer to the light at the other end, his panic slowly subsiding as he reached the opening and peeked out cautiously to the forest below.

There was no one in sight so, after a moments' hesitation, he slithered the last few feet and pulled himself into a crouch behind a large boulder. Looking down he saw the river that dissected the mountains as it snaked its way toward the east. After the steady rain they'd had last week, the water level was high and it splashed and foamed as it flowed across the jagged rocks. He craned his neck to look back up the mountain but the sheer wall of rock that faced him would be impossible to scale.

Tony grimaced and looked back down the slightly less intimidating slope and the raging river below.

'_Down it is then_,' he thought as he crept toward the precipice preparing to lower himself over the edge.

Another loud crack from a rifle sounded and his body spun perilously close to the verge as a white-hot agony erupted in his left bicep. Desperately he grappled at the rocks and gravel, sliding all the time toward the steep side of the gorge and the river below. The weight of his body and sheer momentum carried him over the edge and he fell, arms flailing wildly and hit the wild water backwards.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

A/N:- Two literal cliff-hangers in one story! Hope you'll join us for the next chapter!

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0`0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Two of our fellow FFnet friends recently lost their family home, their possessions and their parent's livelihood (sugar cane and banana plantation,) in the horrific Queensland floods. Their family literally walked away with only the clothing on their backs. Our thoughts are with Coco and Karly and all Australians impacted by this devastating tragedy. In the words of the Queensland Premier, Anna Bligh, "The weather may break our hearts but it cannot break our wills." In our thoughts and prayers, Lyn and Laine


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** We do not own the characters mentioned herein and any copyright infringement is unintentional.

**A/N: **This chapter contains violence that could be disturbing to some.

**The Insider**

**Chapter Eight**

Ignoring the pain shooting from his knee to his thigh, Gibbs jogged determinedly through the thick underbrush, mindful of making as little noise as possible. He knew immediately upon hearing the report of Tony's Sig that his partner was in trouble. He had started back in the general direction of the sound when he heard the shot from a rifle resounding through the trees.

He stopped abruptly and listened. The sound echoed through the densely populated forest and off the side of the mountains. It was difficult to be certain from which direction the shot had come, or how far away, but he was reasonably certain it had come from half a mile east of his position. Changing direction, he cursed when he realised the shot had come from the direction of the rock formations. If Botha and his men had herded the younger man in that direction, his agent would be exposed and cornered. The lack of answering fire from Tony's handgun had him worried. He pushed the negative thoughts out of his mind and forced himself to think.

He gritted his teeth and pushed his injured knee well beyond bearable limits. Spotting a small raised outcrop ahead, he changed course hoping the higher position would give him a clearer view of Tony's situation. Breathing heavily, he reached the top and scanned the far rock inclination for any signs of his young partner.

Though the view was somewhat obstructed, he turned his head quickly toward the movement he'd caught in his peripheral vision and his heart stopped when he recognised his agent free-climbing the near vertical face of the rocky escarpment. Gibbs' face was caught in a rictus of horror as another shot rang out and Tony's body jerked violently before overbalancing and falling backwards forty feet into the raging river below.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Botha lowered his rifle, a smirk of satisfaction on his face. Moments passed as they searched the furiously flowing water waiting for Tony's body to surface.

"Is he dead?" Morne' asked eagerly, stilling smarting from being taken in by the undercover agent.

"If he isn't, he soon will be," Kruger replied, watching the raging water smashing against the rocks as it powerfully surged around a sweeping bend in its frightening race downstream.

"Find out," Botha ordered.

"You're kidding, right?" Kruger protested. "You really think he survived that?"

"We need to know. Follow the river downstream for a half a mile. If he's dead, so be it, if he survived, finish the job," Botha said coldly. "I'll follow the trail left by the others and meet you back here."

"You'll need help," Morne' said. "I'll come with you."

Botha laughed derisively. "The fed is injured and the only threat van Borough presents is with what he knows about us. I can handle it, stay here."

"But _Vader_ –"

"I said stay here!" Botha snapped at his son. "If Sloan did survive, he may try to double back and catch up with the others. If he does…you know what to do."

"Yes, _Vader_," Morne' replied as the bolt of his rifle locked into place with an ominous click.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Fornell leaned back in his seat on the Sea Knight chopper. He closed his tired eyes as the glare of the rising sun beamed through the nearby windows of the aircraft. He welcomed the noise of the tandem contra-rotating rotors that made conversing difficult without the use of headsets. Making conversation was the last thing he felt like doing.

He shifted his weary, sleep-deprived body in the uncomfortable seat and cast his mind back to every recent encounter and conversation with his partner. Mark Warren had been a solid agent with good investigative instincts and the potential for a long and successful career with the Bureau. Hell, Fornell had recommended to his superiors that Warren undertake training to become a supervisory agent!

He _knew_ this man; at least, he thought he did. Had he missed something? A sign that told him his agent was in trouble, something that could have prevented this entire situation? His self-recrimination was as painful as the thought of his agent's betrayal.

He felt a nudge from the agent seated beside him and opened his eyes as Balboa held out a headset. Positioning it over his ears, he listened as the Navy crew chief briefed the nine federal agents onboard.

"Sirs, as you know, the River Hollow State Park is densely populated with a thick canopy of trees," he explained. "The skipper will make several low passes over the crash site and the surrounding area but it will be almost impossible to spot anyone on the ground, even from a low altitude."

"Can we put down somewhere, Chief?" Fornell asked.

"Yes, Sir, the co-pilot and I have checked the topographical and aerial maps. The nearest landing site is an old fire break about nine klicks or five miles from the crash site. We'll put down there. It's near the ranger's station you were asking about and there'll be a team of rangers waiting to guide us in. Our two medics and I will escort you."

"Anybody covering the road?" Special Agent Miller asked.

"Yes, Sir, State Troopers have set up road blocks so no one gets in or out. They've located an SUV registered to Markus de Beers."

"If their car's still there, there's a good chance they haven't found what they're looking for," Fornell said hopefully.

"That's what we're hoping, Sir," the chief replied. "They've arranged for more troopers to start searching from the road, hopefully, the guys you're looking for will get caught in the net."

"How long until we arrive?" Balboa asked.

"ETA is ten minutes, Sir. We'll perform some low passes and set down in about twenty minutes."

As the Chief returned to the cockpit, Fornell checked his sidearm and ammunition, watching as the other agents did likewise.

'_Twenty minutes plus a five mile walk,_' he thought soberly and then hoped like hell they weren't already too late.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Without thought to his injuries, Gibbs sprinted toward an adjacent escarpment. He ignored the sting of scraped skin on his hands and knees as he clambered to the top. Breathing heavily, he tried to calm his panic as he scoured the river for his young partner. He was still over quarter of a mile from the point where Tony had fallen into the river and hot bile burned the back of his throat as helplessness overwhelmed him. There was no sign of Tony in the tumultuous river below.

'_Jesus, no!'_ he thought.

Caught between seconds, time seemed to stand still as thoughts of his partner flashed through his mind.

Tony had been on his team for just over eighteen months, during which time they had mostly been a two-man team. He wasn't sure when it had happened but somewhere along the way, he'd become damn near indispensable. What had started out as a purely professional, working relationship had quickly developed into a partnership unlike any Gibbs had experienced.

The kid was a natural. With his first-rate investigative instincts, unshakeable determination and an uncanny ability to zero in on some obscure detail that would prove to be the case breaker. Sure he could be a cocky, self-promoting pain in the ass at times and his irreverent humour often crossed the line, but Gibbs had found that a swift slap upside the head quickly restored his focus.

Right from the start, Gibbs had seen through the mega-watt smile, the designer suits and the irrepressible façade and recognised a raw vulnerability kept hidden deep inside. The younger man was desperately searching for something; a mentor, a confidante, an older brother…a father figure? Whatever it was, DiNozzo had seen it in Gibbs long before the former Marine had realised it was there – but once he did, it had unlocked something deep within him and he had given it willingly.

As invaluable as DiNozzo was as an investigator, the area where he had most earned Gibbs respect and trust was in the field. It hadn't taken long for him to realise that, despite Tony's lack of military and combat experience, the ex-detective was more than proficient with a weapon, courageous under fire and unfailing in the defence of his partner's six, often to the detriment of his own.

It was Tony's six that Gibbs was worried about now and as a paroxysm of grief and blind rage seized him, he felt something rip deep in his soul. They may not be related by flesh and blood but their unmistakable bond had been forged in the fires of a job that required them to risk their lives and watch each other's back.

The former Marine found that the kind of loyalty and commitment DiNozzo accorded him was more akin to that developed on the battlefields than on the streets. Perhaps that was what had allowed this smart-mouthed, ex-detective to smash through Gibbs' defences with all the grace and finesse of a wrecking ball and form such an invaluable partnership…and friendship.

The pain of this new loss gripped his heart like a vice and not for the first time, it stripped him of reason and rational thought. A hate that had lain dormant within him since Mexico, blazed like an inferno and his desire for vengeance was palpable.

He watched as the three men in the distance split up and he knew, without doubt, what he had to do.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Botha had easily picked up the trail of the injured men and followed it to a small clearing. He scanned the area for danger and, in a cautious crouch, crept forward from his position in the timberline. His eyes narrowed as he saw the jacket-covered body lying still on the ground.

He approached the body and kneeled beside it, swinging his M16 in a sweeping arc across the tree line. Satisfied he was alone he removed the jacket and confirmed the body was that of his former accountant, Horst van Borough. About to replace the jacket, he noticed an incision and a small amount of blood on the man's shoulder. He cursed vehemently. He'd seen this method used before.

"A microchip? _Jou slim shit_," Botha said to the dead man. "We turned your apartment upside down looking for your records and you had them on you all the time."

He got to his feet and searched the ground for footprints, smiling rapaciously when he saw the heavy tread of running desert boots leading back toward the rock formation.

"When I catch up with that fed, _jou veraaiende bastard_," he said. "He'll be just as dead as you and Sloan."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Gibbs had seen Kruger start to follow the river downstream to look for Tony's body and he desperately needed to follow. Nothing could extinguish the flame of grief burning within him but he had to know – one way or the other. First, he had to get rid of Morne' Botha who was cleverly positioned between Gibbs and the river with no way to pass undetected.

His steely eyes narrowed as he observed Morne' Botha pacing nervously and waiting for the return of Kruger and his father. Unlike the others, Morne's lack of experience as a woodsman was plainly obvious and he jumped anxiously and swung his rifle toward the sound of every falling twig or sudden bird-call.

Moving a little further into the forest, Gibbs unzipped the backpack and sorted through the contents until he found what he was looking for. He was about to close the pack when Tony's yo-yo caught his eye. He removed the brightly coloured toy, rubbing his thumb absently across it several times. Banishing all other thoughts from his mind he fully extended the string and with a quick jerk, snapped it from the yo-yo.

Looking around he spotted the perfect tree branch – supple enough to bend and not break, yet thick enough to do some serious damage. Working quickly he rigged up a whip trap, bending the branch to almost a one hundred and eighty degree angle. He felt the strength of the limb as it strained against the unfamiliar position then he used the yo-yo string to secure it in place, knowing it wouldn't hold for very long. He placed the yo-yo on the ground, picked up a handful of rocks and found cover in the thick foliage.

A near perfect toss of the first rock saw Morne' turn swiftly toward the sound pointing the barrel of his rife he stepped closer into the forest. Another rock, coaxed the same result as Morne' drew nearer spotting the brightly coloured yo-yo reflecting in the brilliant sunshine. Keeping his eyes on the tree line he bent to pick it up and then stood to his full height.

A rush of anger drove away his grief as Gibbs raised his knife and slashed the string with vicious force. The branch whipped back with startling speed, striking Morne' a sickening blow to the head and knocking him from his feet. The man was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Gibbs reached into the bag for the zip-tie handcuffs and quickly secured Morne's hands and feet before placing the sticking plaster from the first aid kit over the man's mouth.

Swinging the backpack over one shoulder, he headed out after Kruger, realising without remorse that bringing these men back alive and well was no longer a priority.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

The absence of near-deafening music booming from the lab was an indication of Abby's concern for Tony and Gibbs' safety. Her entire focus was on her computer monitor as her fingers flew over her keyboard, imputing various commands.

She heard the soft sound of approaching footsteps then an arm appeared and placed a large Caf-Pow on the work counter beside her.

"Thank you, Ducky," she replied without looking.

"You're welcome, but we'll both be in a lot of trouble if my wife finds out you call me Ducky."

Abby spun around quickly. "Director Morrow! I…er…thought you were Ducky…er…Doctor Mallard!"

"I've just come from Autopsy," the director stated. "Doctor Mallard asked me to bring you this…refreshment. Have you been able to find a connection between Agent Warren and Roadhog Transport?"

"Not yet," Abby replied. "I cross-checked telephone records for both and found nothing. Then I cross referenced the logs of Jacques and Morne' Botha's personal cells, still nothing."

"Could they have been using unregistered cells?"

"You bet your directorial ass they could!" Abby exclaimed. "Er...I mean...you bet your directorial ass they could...Sir!"

Morow's eyebrow's disappeared into his receding hairline and Abby quickly looked to move on. She pointed to the large plasma screen where Warren's cell phone records appeared. One number had been highlighted multiple times.

"The highlighted number is from an unregistered cell. As you can see, the caller has contacted Warren, like, a zillion times. Day or night and the call durations last from five seconds to over thirteen minutes."

"Still doesn't prove that the cell belongs to Botha," Morrow said.

"No it doesn't, but look at the time of these last two calls…one was right before someone carrying a badge, rifled van Borough's apartment and the other was taken right after Agent Fornell had briefed the FBI protection detail," Abby said.

"According to Fornell, that's when he told his agents that Gibbs and DiNozzo were going to River Hollow to collect van Borough."

"Right…and there's something else," Abby replied, chewing her bottom lip. "I tried to trace Warren's cell but it was switched off. He was supposed to be on duty this morning but my contact at the FBI said Warren took a personal day. On an off chance, I called his home but according to Warren's wife, he left for work early this morning. Director, nobody knows where this guy is! Right at this very moment he could be trying to kill Gibbs and Tony!"

"Looks like Fornell's hunch was right. Have Agent Monroe put a BOLO on Warren's car," Morrow replied moving toward the door.

"I already did, Sir," Abby replied, hoping she had not overstepped her authority. "I asked Agent Monroe to place the BOLO about ninety minutes ago when I realised Warren had switched off his cell."

"Good work, Miss Scuito."

"Thank you, Director, and thanks for the Caf-Pow and I'm really, really sorry for…you know…calling you Ducky."

"Think nothing of it…Snooky." Morrow's lips quivered in a suppressed smile as Abby's eyes widened in surprise. He turned to leave again, stopping to answer his cell.

"Morrow…where? Keep me posted."

"Director?" Abby asked anxiously.

"That was Agent Monroe…Warren's car has just been located."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

From a well-hidden, parallel position, Gibbs watched as Kruger slowly moved forward through the forest, making his way back to his team from further downriver – and, Gibbs feared, from Tony. It was SOP that someone would be sent to locate Tony's body, to ensure he was dead or to finish the job. His rage grew and the fury of it threatened to overwhelm him. His lips pressed tightly together and a tense, pinched expression marred his handsome face as he expected the worst, yet hoped for the best.

Drawing on skills perfected in the Marines, Gibbs silently moved ahead at a faster pace. He changed direction at a point he knew would intersect Kruger's route and entice the South African to follow his trail, then he laid in wait for the man to arrive.

Moments later, Kruger edged into view. His eyes darted from the trail of footprints and scanned the trees and vegetation all around him as he took each cautious step forward. He came to an abrupt halt when, five feet in front of him, the tracks suddenly stopped. Closer examination determined that the man had backtracked and Kruger's heartbeat quickened with the realisation that his quarry was now somewhere behind him.

High above on an overhanging branch, Gibbs held his breath as Kruger's almost imperceptible footsteps drew near. If this man was as proficient as his background search implied, the smallest sound could give away his position before he was ready to act. He would, more than likely, only get one chance and he had to make it count…for Tony's sake.

A strong breeze blew, permeating the densely populated forest, rustling the leaves and branches of the trees and pushing Kruger's senses and paramilitary training to the limit. He spun around quickly, bringing the barrel of his M16 to bear and scrutinising the area for any signs that the federal agent could be near.

Overhead, rage and grief were the predominant sentiments as Gibbs was caught in a seething mass of emotion. Kruger drew nearer and the former Marine fought to control his barely contained fury and the tremor of muscles pulled taut. He exhaled forcefully, momentarily ejecting his anger with the audible gust of air. Then he stilled, tense and coiled, ready to act.

Still scouring the trees ahead, Kruger walked slowly under the large branch as Gibbs dropped twelve feet and landed directly behind him. Angrily dismissing the near crippling pain that exploded in his knee he forcefully grabbed the other man from behind, seizing Kruger's lower jaw in his right hand and the back of the man's head in his left.

"Move and I'll snap your neck," Gibbs ground out menacingly between tightly clenched teeth.

Kruger started then stood motionless, both hands still holding the M16.

"Lose the rifle and keep your hands where I can see them," Gibbs told him, watching as the man tossed the rifle to the side.

"Where's my agent?" he demanded, bracing himself for an answer he couldn't bear to hear.

"He's dead," Kruger hissed in reply. "He took a header off a cliff and the river swept him a mile downstream."

Gibbs fought to keep his voice steady despite the overwhelming anger and grief that was coalescing deep in his gut.

"You saw him?" he managed.

"Found him washed up on the shore. He was a stubborn bastard…smashed to pieces but he was still alive," the South African taunted. "I bashed his skull three times with that rock before he died."

Kruger barked out a laugh that was choked off abruptly as Gibbs tightened his grip. Momentarily lost in his anguish, he was unaware that the South African had wrapped his fingers firmly around the hilt of the commando knife sheathed to his belt and hidden under his jacket.

"Did you shoot him?" Gibbs asked in a tight voice.

"Botha beat me to it," Kruger spat. "Hey, you should be thanking me, _vark_; I put an end to your agent's suffering. Took me ten minutes to wash the blood from my hands."

Gibbs squeezed his eyes closed to shut out the vivid image and the split-second distraction was all the South African needed. In a lightning move, Kruger withdrew his knife and thrust his arm backward with all the power he could muster from his awkward stance. Gibbs stifled a yell as the serrated blade pierced his side and was deflected by a rib.

Kruger moved slightly to the left and thrust his arm again. The blade arced dangerously toward the agent's stomach – the South African intent on murder. The former Marine's training and self-preservation took over. Setting his feet firmly on the ground, he heard a resounding and satisfying crack as he forcefully applied sixty-six pounds of torque and snapped Kruger's neck.

He released his grip and watched without emotion as the man's body fell silently to the ground. He placed a hand to his side and felt the warmth of his own blood seeping through his fingers. He knew that when the adrenaline and the quest for vengeance stopped pumping through his veins, the wound would hurt like a son of a bitch.

He turned his head toward the sound of an approaching of a Navy chopper as it swept low over the thick shroud of tree-tops and his choices were clear - he could signal the chopper, lay low and wait for help to arrive or he could finish the job he'd started. As he bent to retrieve Kruger's fallen M16, he had only one thing on his mind – killing Jacques Botha.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0 **

The Sea Knight helicopter had already made several low passes over the crash site and, as the crew chief had predicted, the dense canopy of trees made it nearly impossible to see anything happening on the ground.

The agents donned their headsets again.

"Maybe we should make another pass over the ravine and those large rock formations," Miller suggested.

"No point," Fornell replied. "Gibbs is a Marine and he wouldn't risk breaking cover. They'd be too exposed up there and Botha's people would be on them in a flash."

The chief joined them from the cockpit.

"State troopers and rangers have started to move in from the road," he said. "We're headed for the firebreak we're we'll put down and move in from the other side."

"How long, Chief?" Balboa asked.

"Two minutes," the chief replied. "We've just had word from the ground teams that they've found another car, pulled to the side of the road out of sight."

"Did they run a check on the registration?" Fornell asked, feeling a sudden tightening in his gut.

"Yes, Sir," the chief replied. "I'm sorry to have to tell you but the car was registered to one of your agents."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

With the small first aid kit laid open beside him, Gibbs hissed through his teeth as he ran an antiseptic wipe over the knife wound in his side. Although the wound was superficial, it was bleeding faster than he could mop it up. He took a large wad of gauze and taped it into place. That would have to do for now. The exhaustion and pain was staggering but the knowledge that he'd lost his partner was even worse. He tried to force the thought from his mind, knowing he had more pressing things to attend to.

With the expertise and assuredness of a highly skilled Marine sniper, he sought and located the best vantage spot. He stepped away from his chosen position and buried the backpack. Whatever happened, he would ensure that Botha didn't get his hands on the microchip – they'd come too far and lost too much to let that happen. He took a good look around and etched its location into his mind.

Returning to his original position, he laid belly-down on the dirt, wincing as the movement pulled at his wound and noting the blood had already soaked through his shirt. He adjusted his grip on the M16 until it felt comfortable in his hands…and then he waited.

He knew that after locating van Borough's body, Botha would make his way back to the small clearing below to re-join his team. He'd positioned his sniper's nest high above with a clear view of the approach on three sides. Once again he found himself overwhelmed with grief and the inclination to immerse himself in feelings of hatred and revenge. There would be no warning given and no mercy shown, only the harsh retribution that a man like Botha deserved.

He forced tense muscles to relax as he spotted Botha's cautious approach. He took a deep calming breath before making minor adjustments to the scope of the rifle and aligning the cross-hairs to Botha's head. He removed his finger from the trigger and shook the last remnants of tension away.

'_Last man standing, Botha?_' he thought. '_Not for long._'

As he moved to replace his hand on the trigger, he felt the barrel of a rifle prod him firmly in the back.

"Move and I'll blow you in two."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

**A/N: **Thank you again for your support of this story. We hope you enjoyed this chapter and will join us for the next. Lyn and Laine


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** We do not own the characters mentioned herein and any copyright infringement is unintentional.

**THE INSIDER**

**Chapter Nine**

Tony barely had time to gasp for breath as the cold water forced the air from his lungs and he was tossed over and over by the fast moving torrent. Disoriented, the urge to fight against the current gripped him and he started to thrash wildly. Blinding pain speared his side and he felt a couple of ribs give way as his back made brutal contact with a huge submerged rock. Shock and the force of the blow caused him to inhale a mouthful of water. Hacking coughs wracked his body as he fought to expel the liquid from his burning lungs, each cough expanding his ribcage and sending excruciating needles of agony slicing through his body.

With the force of the water holding him under, before he knew it he was tumbling and spinning again. With a rumbling liquid explosion of noise and darkness, the powerful, seething torrent carried him downriver and around a sweeping bend.

He surfaced momentarily, dazed and disoriented in water that was too deep to touch the bottom. He had only enough time to take a half breath before the next wave came, looming over him like a white wall of stone. The steep gradient caused an increase in water velocity and turbulence and his body was pounded and scraped against innumerable unforgiving rocks on the riverbed as he fought the fierce suction forcing him downward.

It was getting harder to hold his breath. Coughing, sputtering and wheezing, his desperate battle for oxygen and survival was transformed into mute bubbles until his body had nothing left to give and he was completely out of breath. An eternity later, the heavy water darkened around him, his limbs grew weary from frantic wind-milling; his lungs ached and his eyes closed in surrender….and then he heard it. Loud and clear as if the man was right beside him.

"Damn it, DiNozzo, fight!"

His eyes snapped open and he forced himself to act. With an effort drawn from reserves he knew were close to empty, Tony reached out with his feet and mercifully found the bottom. He kicked off with everything he had left and, breaking the surface, threw back his head attempting to suck in a lungful of precious air. His chest began to spasm in a desperate bid to disgorge the invading fluid from his lungs and he vomited. A thick blanket of agony wrapped itself around his chest as he tried to concentrate on his breathing, a shallow pant the only option if he was to control the pain.

Beaten and exhausted, he lacked the energy required to swim against the strong current to the riverbank. He turned so that his feet were facing downstream and leaned back, allowing the fast flowing river to carry him safely away from his pursuers.

Gradually the pain lessened and he was able to ease his head up to look around, finding that he'd been carried about a mile down river from the gorge. He managed a clumsy sidestroke and kicked his way across to the nearest bank. Climbing to his feet he staggered several steps and stood shakily in ankle deep water.

Fractured thoughts stuttered into his head, shattered into tiny pieces and then reformed as shadowy images – Gibbs and van Borough both injured and trying to reach the rangers' station; de Beers attempting to choke the life from him; Botha, Morne' and Kruger who, despite his efforts to hide his trail, had easily tracked him and had hunted him down like a pack of hounds. He turned drunkenly up-river and lifted his face defiantly into the sun.

"Let's see you follow that trail, assholes!" he muttered.

The words triggered a round of violent, heaving coughs and he fell to his knees as his stomach and lungs convulsed repeatedly, spewing their watery contents. Several long moments of mind-numbing pain followed until the vomiting stopped. Completely spent, he dropped sideways and lay on the sandy riverbank knowing nothing but pain and wheezing, gasping breaths.

Tony hissed as the burning sensation in his left bicep flared angrily. Damn, the bullet must have grazed his left shoulder. He struggled to a sitting position and blinked rapidly until reality settled around him. He frowned at the growing bloodstain on the sleeve of his shirt and pressed down hard on the wound with his other hand. His lips thinned when he saw the blood ooze lazily between his fingers.

Slipping his shirt off his shoulder, Tony brushed the fabric across the wound to wipe away the blood but it continued to seep in a slow rhythm from the hole in his arm. The bullet had done more than graze him; it had caught the muscle and continued straight through leaving a sizeable tear in his bicep, one that needed to be dressed before he lost too much blood. Tearing a section from his shirt, Tony applied a wad of fabric to the wound and tied a makeshift bandage to apply pressure.

'_First the Zegna jacket, now the ____Dolce __and ____Gabbana shirt…no wonder Gibbs shops at Sears,' __Tony thought ruefully._

Satisfied with his first aid efforts, he took a moment to consider his position as the red mist before his eyes lifted and his mind cleared. He knew his pursuers had seen him fall into the river and with him out of the way they would continue their search for Gibbs and van Borough. Injured and outnumbered, Tony knew he had to make his way back to Gibbs - fast.

Lifting a hand to feel along his ribcage, he winced in pain as he located the area that had taken the brunt of the fall. He clenched his teeth as pain grated all the way through him and then he climbed unsteadily to his feet. The adrenalin in his system was dissipating quickly leaving him utterly exhausted. Ordering his trembling legs to support him, he crossed the small clearing and re-entered the forest, determined to find his partner.

He stubbornly placed one shaky foot in front of the other as he tried to stave off the strong desire to break with DiNozzo family tradition and pass out. The world spun around him, his knees buckled and the next thing he knew, he was staring at blades of grass. Every nerve ending erupted in agony as hot bile rose into his throat, threatening to choke him. Another round of wretched vomiting, expended the last of his strength. The ground was cool beneath his skin and he pressed his damp cheek against it, trying to slow his breathing as the pain slowly began to ebb. He made a valiant effort to push back the blackness, but overwhelming exhaustion crashed down on him like a ton of bricks and, mercifully, oblivion took him.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

With a long-suffering sigh, Director Morrow looked up from his relentless stream of paperwork and watched as the Gothic forensic scientist continually paced the length of his office. He noted that she was still speaking at a frantic pace, her hands waving about expressively. As there was no one else in the room, he presumed she was still speaking to him but as she obviously hadn't needed him to contribute to the conversation, he returned to his paperwork.

A quick knock at the door was followed by the entry of NCIS Special Agent Monroe.

"What happened? Was he there? Did you bring him in? Where is he?" Abby asked. "Where's Agent Warren?"

"Yes, yes, no, and at his home," Monroe replied, placing a small box on the table.

"Why isn't he here? We got a hit on the BOLO on his car, we had its location…what happened?"

"He's not guilty," Monroe said. "At least, not guilty of leaking information to Jacques Botha."

"Agent Monroe, this is not the time for cryptic conversations," Morrow admonished. "You were ordered to bring FBI Agent Mark Warren in for questioning. It was not your place to determine whether or not the man was guilty."

"Yes, Sir," Monroe replied, slipped a videocassette into the recorder. "That's why I left Murphy covering Warren and came back to show you this security footage."

"Footage of what?" Morrow asked impatiently.

"More like who. The reason Warren has been acting suspiciously and disappearing without telling anyone is right here."

Monroe pointed to the plasma as an image appeared of the FBI agent climbing from his car and entering room 405 of the Down Town hotel in Georgetown where a scantily clad woman greeted him very enthusiastically.

"I'm guessing the woman is not his wife." Morrow stated.

"No, Sir. The woman is Kathleen Oxley. She was a witness in an extortion case Fornell and his team worked on last year. According to Warren, he's been trying to end their relationship for months but she won't let go. Calls him constantly. She's not above a little extortion herself, she's threatened to tell Warren's wife and the FBI Director if he refuses to see her."

"She's what Tony would call a real bunny-boiler!" Abby said.

"Does this woman have any connection to Botha?' Morrow asked.

"None that we could find. Her background check was clean," Monroe said. "The cell in her purse matches the number that appears repeatedly on Warren's call logs and the security footage placed him nowhere near van Borough's apartment when it was ransacked. We have nothing linking him with Roadhog Transport, the Botha's home or River Hollows…I hate to say this, Director, but I think we have the wrong guy."

Morrow and Abby exchanged a concerned glance.

"If Warren isn't the FBI leak – who is?"

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Tony regained consciousness in slow, painful increments. He was reluctant to leave the serenity of the darkness despite the irritating sensation tickling his nose. Clenching his jaw with the effort, he pulled his face from the dirt for long enough to look around. He blinked several times before realising that he was lying face down in the grass. Willing trembling fingers to stillness, he rubbed his hands over his face, dislodging the leaves and dirt that had adhered there.

His breath caught and his body heaved in deep wracking coughs that, momentarily, refused to let him breathe. As pain fractured all thoughts he lay there, gasping and shivering and waited for the agony to fade to a mere, burning pain. Exhaustion was seeping inexorably through his veins and slowly the fire in his side eased, replaced by throbbing in his ribs and shoulder. He didn't know how long he'd lain there but noted that the warm morning sun had already begun to dry his clothes.

Dizzy to the point of nausea, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to sit up without puking. The irritating buzzing in his head grew unbearably loud and it wasn't until it started to fade that Tony realised the sound was a helicopter. He sat up quickly and felt blackness threatening. By the time he'd dragged himself to his feet, he caught a glimpse of a Navy Sea Knight in the distance.

While he hoped like hell that Gibbs and van Borough had made it to the rangers' station and called for help, he knew in his gut that his boss was in trouble. He had to go back. He checked the makeshift bandage on his arm and was satisfied to find it still secure; the bleeding seemed to have slowed considerably.

The soaked leather of his shoulder holster felt hard and cut into his flesh through his shirt and he cursed angrily as he realised his Sig Sauer was missing. Easing the harness from his injured shoulder as carefully as possible, he tossed the ruined holster in the long grass. He looked around to get his bearings and then with a strength born of desperation he headed back to look for Gibbs.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Morne' Botha woke to the sound of his own moaning. He opened his eyes to slits and turned his head from the glare of the morning sun. His head throbbed mercilessly and he attempted to raise his hands before he realised they were bound behind his back and secured at the wrists. He was thirsty but when he tried to lick his lips he found that he couldn't open his mouth. Panic seized him and he forced himself to breathe deeply through his nose.

He blanched as memories of being bushwhacked flooded back with frightening speed and he tried to remain calm and take stock of his situation. Glancing down he saw that his feet were secured tightly by a zip-tie and he could no longer feel his toes moving.

He let go a muffled yell of frustration and hoped that Kruger or his father were close enough to hear. Flexing the muscles in his face, he tried unsuccessfully to loosen the tape across his mouth then shrugged his left shoulder forward and attempted to rub his face against it. It would take some time but maybe the rubbing would loosen the tape enough for him to call for help. Knowing that was is best option, he got to work.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

"Easy…take it very easy," the voice told Gibbs as a rifle barrel pressed painfully into his spine. "Now, nice and slow, put your face in the dirt and your hands behind your back."

Gibbs was torn…just a few more seconds and he would have a head shot on Jacques Botha.

"Don't even think about it!" the voice threatened, jamming the rifle into his back as an ominous reminder. "You're good, Agent Gibbs, but you're not that good. I'd blow you in half before you could fire that shot."

Gibbs slowly lowered his face into the cool dirt and moved his hands behind his back where they were bound tightly with a zip-tie. Rough hands patted him down, searching for weapons and stripping him of his Sig and his spare sidearm. The toe of a boot nudged him firmly in the side and he winced as pain shot through his knife-wound.

"Get up – very slowly," the man said.

Slowly was about all Gibbs could manage. The time spent lying in wait for Botha had allowed his body to cool and his muscles had stiffened considerably. Taking most of his weight on his uninjured knee he struggled to his feet and turned slowly to face the man. His eyes narrowed slightly – he'd seen this man before but couldn't place him. The man looked nervous but his hands were steady as they pointed the automatic rifle at the middle of Gibbs' chest.

"You don't remember me, do you Agent Gibbs?"

"Should I?"

"You have quite a reputation in the Hoover Building," he told the older man. "Even Fornell has the utmost respect – that's quite a compliment."

At the sound of Fornell's name, some of the pieces fell into place.

"You're Fornell's probationary agent…Sorenson, right?"

Sorenson's stiffened slightly, obviously not expecting Gibbs to remember him; the reaction wasn't lost on Gibbs as he attempted to keep the man talking.

"Tobias thinks pretty highly of you," Gibbs continued.

"He does?"

"Said you had a lot to offer the Bureau. It's not too late, you know," Gibbs said, sensing the conflict in the younger man. "You're in some trouble but there's still time for you to make things right."

Sorenson huffed out a hybrid of a laugh and a sob.

"That's where you're wrong, Gibbs. It's far more complicated than that." He gestured with the barrel of the rifle. "That way…stay in front of me and don't try anything."

Gibbs tried to ignore the pain that shot up his leg with every step as he led the Sorenson back down the steep slope to the clearing below. As they drew closer, Sorenson called out in a language Gibbs recognised by its harsh guttural tones to be Afrikaans. Botha replied in kind and with a firm push in the back that nearly sent him sprawling, Gibbs entered the clearing and came face to face with Jacques Botha.

"Agent Gibbs, I presume," Botha said.

Blue eyes narrowed and turned to stone as he came face to face with the man who, only moments before, he'd had in his rifle sights…the man responsible for the death of his agent.

"Botha," Gibbs spat. "Or is it Pietersen?"

With a derisive twist of his lips, Botha shrugged nonchalantly and replied.

"Bravo, Agent Gibbs, you have done your homework. We were sure we had buried Johan Pietersen so deep that he would never be found - it seems it was not deep enough."

"Vader, there's not much time," Sorenson interjected anxiously. "That Navy helicopter will be full of feds looking for him."

"Vader?" Gibbs repeated.

"Yes, Gibbs. This is my youngest son, Willem."

"That's quite an accomplishment. Faking the death of your son and setting up a new identity so he can infiltrate a federal agency and do your bidding."

"If you pay enough money to the right person, anything in possible," Botha smiled arrogantly.

"Vader, where is Morne?"

"I told him to wait for us here," Botha said, looking around. "He must have gone to help Kruger."

"I found Kruger's body about a quarter of a mile from here," Sorenson said. "His neck was broken."

Botha turned toward Gibbs with a look of pure hatred on his face.

"Where's Morne'? Where's my son?" he growled.

Gibbs stared back into the enraged face without responding.

Botha grabbed the agent by the shoulders and dragged him backward, slamming him hard against a large tree. The ridges in the trunk bit savagely into the flesh on Gibbs' back and the impact forced the air from his lungs.

"I'll ask you once more, Gibbs…where is my son?"

Cutting him down to size with a murderous expression, Gibbs replied.

"You're the great white hunter, Botha, you find him."

Botha gave a roar of angry frustration before driving his massive fist into the agent's face. Gibbs felt his lip split open against his teeth as a fine spray of blood puffed into the air and coated his assailant's shirtfront. Unable to defend himself, the agent strained desperately against his restraints as Botha pressed a gun to Gibbs' head.

"We don't have time for this! Tell me or I'll kill you!"

"You fire that gun and you'll bring those agents right to you," Gibbs gasped, splitting the blood from his mouth as the helicopter made another low pass.

"He's right, Vader, we need to find Morne' and get out of here!" Sorenson said.

"Shut up, Willem!" Botha roared without breaking the mutually disdainful eye contact with Gibbs. "I found van Borough's body, Gibbs. I know you took the microchip. I want it!"

A sneer teased the corner of the agent's mouth, further infuriating the South African.

"I don't have it."

The menacing tone of Gibbs voice was in stark contrast to his calm façade but the fire of hatred burned white-hot within him. The midday sun flared as it caught the barrel of the gun in Botha's hand and Gibbs tightened his jaw, biting down on his fury and his grief.

"You want the microchip? It's floating down the river with my agent. You killed the wrong man you son of a bitch!"

Channelling his remaining energy with his crushing need for revenge, Gibbs brought his head forward swiftly and heard the crack of Botha's cheekbone as his hard skull connected with the other man's face. A furious howl escaped the South African's throat as he reeled back in agony as warm, sticky blood rushed down Gibbs' face from a gash in his eyebrow.

Botha recovered quickly with several punishing body blows, the force almost knocking Gibbs down and leaving his gasping and retching. With his hands bound, he was unable to defend himself from Botha's frenzied attack. Gibbs turned his head as Botha's fist struck him a mind-numbing blow to the temple. Before he could react another blow caught him solidly on the jaw with a fury and power that knocked the agent off his feet. Unable to regain his balance Gibbs fell backward, striking his head on a large rock with a sickening thud. The pain was swift and blinding and darkness quickly took him.

Botha stood over the agent's unconscious form like a Colossus and raised his foot to deliver a potentially fatal blow to the head when a shout rang out from deeper in the forest.

Sorenson restrained his enraged father from behind.

"Vader, it's Morne'!" Sorenson yelled. "He's alive!"

The two men stilled until the distant shout sounded again.

Botha shrugged free from his son and picked up his rifle. "Let's go," he said.

"What about him?" Sorenson asked.

"Tie his feet." Botha snarled. "I'm not through with him yet."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Hearing voices from below, Tony found cover at a point overlooking the clearing. The effort of his trek back upriver left him exhausted, bathed in sweat with fine tremors running through his body. His heart stopped when he saw Gibbs lying beaten and still. Even from a distance, Tony could see the blood, swelling and bruising on his boss' face. Botha and a younger man were standing over Gibbs' still form. Instinctively, Tony reached for his Sig, cursing silently when he realised it was lost in his sojourn down the river.

He desperately tried to clear his head and think of a diversion, a plan to get Gibbs safely out of there. His body was silently screaming for rest but there was no time. He heard a faint shout from deeper in the forest and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the younger man apply a zip-tie to Gibbs' feet. He knew they wouldn't have bothered if his partner were already dead.

He waited a moment after the men left then, holding his ribs for support, he made it to the clearing as fast as he could manage and kneeled by Gibbs' side. He allowed a moment's gratification when he felt the strong and steady throbbing from the pulse point in the older man's neck.

"Boss? Boss?" Tony whispered urgently as he tapped the older man's bruised cheek.

Nothing. He saw the blood-soaked hair and collar and checked the back of the former Marine's head trying to determine the extent of his injury. He winced in sympathy as he felt the huge knot that had formed on the back of his skull.

"Hope you remember this, Gibbs," Tony said to the unconscious man. "Getting hit on the back of the head is no fun."

Tony sighed at the lack of response - he had to wake him up – there was no way in hell that he could carry Gibbs out. Taking his knife from his belt, he rolled him slightly and started to cut the zip-tie binding his hands.

"Come on, Boss, talk to me, we're running outta time here!"

Gibbs moved his head slightly and groaned and Tony couldn't stop the grin that played across his lips.

"Tony?" he slurred almost inaudibly, straining to hear over the pounding in his head.

"Yeah it's me. Hold still while I cut you loose."

"How did…I thought…thought you were dead," Gibbs whispered thickly.

"You in the habit of talking to dead people, Boss?"

Gibbs' mind was reeling. He had witnessed Tony, climbing down the precarious cliff-face; he'd heard the crack of a rifle and seen Tony's body jerk violently as the bullet struck him; then he'd watched in horror as his partner fell into the raging river below and was washed away. He was rarely surprised at the resilience of his agent but this time he was amazed - Tony DiNozzo had proven, once again, that the impossible was in fact, very possible.

He heard the exhaustion and pain in the younger man's voice and gritted his teeth against the nauseating sensation as he turned his head and tried to get a look at him. Suddenly, his hands were free, inducing a stifled moan as the release of tension sent spasms of agony the length of his arms and into his shoulders.

"You okay, Boss?"

Gibbs managed a wry smile. "I'm not the one who…who took a header off a cliff."

"You saw that? Well, it was a nice day for a swim…actually, it was very Butch and Sundance - but you didn't answer my question, are you okay?"

"Head hurts…what happened?"

"You hit your head pretty hard on a rock…but don't worry, I checked it out and the rock's gonna be fine."

Tony grinned at the older man's scowl and turned his attention to freeing Gibbs' feet.

Blinking away his blurred vision, Gibbs assessed his partner, taking in the blood soaked bandage on his upper arm and the way he held it protectively across his chest. Pain lines were etched deeply into the young face and he looked emotionally and physically wrecked…but he was here…a little worse for wear but walking and talking and now helping _him_ to escape. The reality of their situation returned with a crash as Gibbs tensed and looked around the clearing.

"Where's Botha?" he asked.

"Not sure. Someone yelled from over that way and they both took off."

"Better make it fast. They'll be back."

Tony nodded, still hampered by the use of only one arm. He glanced briefly at Gibbs, noting the other man's glazed eyes and pained expression and recognising the signs of a concussion.

"I don't mean to take advantage of this situation, Boss, but I hope you remember this moment when you do my performance review next month," he said, reverting to humour to lighten the situation.

"I'm sure you'll remind me," Gibbs replied, tenderly feeling the painful laceration in his side.

"Bet your house on it," Tony replied. "Where's Horst?"

"Didn't make it," Gibbs said grimly.

"Damn," Tony whispered as his knife finally sliced through to zip-tie and Gibbs flexed his ankles to assist his circulation. "We gotta get outta here. Can you stand?"

"Not sure," Gibbs reluctantly admitted. "Give me a hand."

Tony's brow furrowed in concern - the rare admission and the request for help were alarming signs that he needed to get his boss out of there fast. He extended his good arm to Gibbs but his blood ran cold as he heard the familiar cocking of a rifle.

"Not so fast," Botha hissed moving from the tree line into the clearing. "Drop the knife, lace your fingers behind your head and turn around – _slowly!"_

Gibbs caught the flash of impulsiveness in his partner's eyes and instinctively knew what Tony was thinking. He gave his head a tiny shake – they were unarmed and outnumbered and Botha had nothing to lose.

"_Now!_" Botha shouted.

"Take it easy, man," Tony replied calmly. He steeled his features to hide the pain that burned in his ribs and arm as he slowly placed his hands behind his head.

"Agent DiNozzo," Botha said with mild amusement. "You are surprisingly hard to kill."

The young agent shrugged. "It's a gift that's serves me well."

Morne' Botha emerged from the forest, supported by Sorenson. He had a large bloodied gash across his forehead and from the pained expression on his face Tony guessed that he was sporting one hell of a headache.

"How is he?" Botha asked.

"He's fine, Vader," Sorenson said.

"Vader?" Tony repeated, looking from one to the other noting a slight resemblance.

"Where are my manners? You haven't met my youngest son," Botha stated with a derisive smile.

"Your youngest son? Let me guess…Lazarus?" Tony asked.

"Willem."

"Seems I'm not the only one with a knack of coming back from the dead."

Morne' shrugged off his brother's support and walked menacingly toward Tony as the agent stiffened, his body instinctually preparing for a fight he had no hope of winning.

"I ought to shoot you where you stand," he growled.

"Is this about the basketball game?" Tony asked casually. "Cause I'm sure that with regular practise and a little hard work you can improve that jump shot."

Tony ruthlessly denied his urge to flinch as Morne reached for the handgun tucked into his belt.

"Wait!" Botha said. "Not yet. First I have some unfinished business with Agent Gibbs."

Ignoring Morne's furious glare, Tony chanced a look at his boss. Now seated against the trunk of a large tree, Gibbs was battling to remain conscious. His head lolled as if it was too heavy to remain upright and his eyes were half closed. He was a tough son of a bitch but Tony already suspected a concussion and even unrestrained the former Marine was not getting to his feet anytime soon. Glancing back in Morne's direction, the young agent noticed the man was holding a yo-yo in his left hand and saw an opportunity to buy some time.

"I think that's my yo-yo, man," Tony said.

The random comment stopped everyone in their tracks and their attention turned to him again.

"See, the reason I know it's mine is 'cause it's a 1982, limited edition, Scooby Doo junior champ yo-yo. I swapped my cousin Petey six buttons and four green aggies for it when I was ten years old. It's been a kind of lucky charm for me ever since."

Morne's lips curled in a snarl, remembering that the colourful toy had been used as bait to lure him into the whip trap that had nearly knocked him senseless.

"In the last few hours, you've been in a car wreck, you got shot and you fell off a cliff into a river," he said. "Still think it's lucky?"

"Hell, yeah, I survived!" Tony exclaimed with a wide grin. "See, that's what's wrong with you criminal types today, you're all "glass is half-empty" kind of guys. I appreciate you bringing it back though, man, it's kinda special to me."

With a look of disdain, Morne' dropped the yo-yo on the ground and stamped down hard with his heavy boot, breaking it into pieces.

"Is it still special?"

"Enough!" Botha yelled, his attention now focussed on Tony. "Search him."

Willem stepped forward and restrained Tony firmly by the biceps. The agent bit down hard, refusing to give voice to the agony shooting through his arm and chest. He breathed deeply through his nose waiting for the pain to ebb as Morne' conducted a thorough body search.

"Whoa! Easy there, man," Tony said. "I'm all for "don't ask don't tell" but that was a little less like searching and a little more like copping a feel."

Morne' drew his fist back and let go a powerful right cross that landed squarely on Tony's jaw. Had Willem not been holding him up, the power of the punch would have knocked the agent off his feet.

"How's that feel?" Morne' sneered.

Tony waited for reality to settle around him. Unable to shake off Willem's firm grip, he stood as tall as he could manage and looked Morne' directly in the eye.

"Like you've been working out," he replied with a grimace as his pulse pounded heavily in his temples.

"Where is the microchip?" Botha demanded.

"What microchip?"

Another punch jolted his head painfully and the coppery taste of his blood invaded his mouth. He spat it out and touched the inside of his cheek with his tongue, cautiously poking at a laceration etched into his flesh by its collision with his teeth.

"We know Gibbs gave you the microchip. Tell me where it is or I'll beat it out of you," Morne' said with ominous pleasure.

"Better men than you have tried to beat my brains out," Tony panted, pausing in thought. "Though, to be fair, you show a lot of promise."

Morne' wrapped his talon-like fingers around Tony's bicep. Pressing his thumb into the bullet wound, he leaned closely and hissed into the agent's face.

"You made a fool of me in front of my family. Believe me, Sloan, you don't want to do that again."

Tony groaned, momentarily pinching his eyes shut against the staggering pain. He snapped them open and glared defiantly at his captor.

"It's Special Agent DiNozzo…and go to hell."

Fuelled by his humiliation, Morne's face transformed into a grotesque mask of fury as he drove his fist into Tony's stomach with a force that knocked the breath and a good portion of the fight out of him. Willem released his hold and Tony fell heavily to the ground driving shards of agony into his brain. In the distance he heard Gibbs cursing vehemently at their captors.

"Vader, we're running out of time. We have to go!" Willem said desperately.

Botha crouched by Gibbs and firmly placed the gun-muzzle the agent's head.

"Where's the microchip?" he snapped.

Gibbs glared at him with eyes that sparked with incandescent fury. Viciously, he nurtured the fury still burning in his gut.

"You heard DiNozzo…go to hell."

Rough hands grabbed a fistful of Tony's hair and dragged him across the clearing, dumping him at Gibbs' feet. The wavering double vision caused his stomach to rebel and sent hot bile rising to the back of his throat. With his arms wrapped tightly around his chest, Tony wheezed and coughed as he fought to control his breathing.

Botha moved to Tony's side and cruelly jammed the gun into the younger agent's temple.

"Last chance, Agent Gibbs. Tell us where the microchip is or I'll kill you both."

"You're gonna kill us anyway," Gibbs stated.

"Yes, but before you die, you can watch me blow his brains out and know that you were responsible for his death."

The two agents exchanged a glance and a wordless message was sent and received. The time and method of how they were to die may have been brutally ripped from them but they could, sure as hell, still choose _how_ they faced their death.

Gibbs watched proudly as his young partner suppressed the pain and exhaustion wracking his body and set his shoulders, ready to face whatever happened. The hooded green eyes were dark, reflecting the infinite weariness of a man pushed well beyond his endurance...but hanging on doggedly. The former Marine was reminded of an old saying 'the more wit, the less courage,' and he knew that whoever coined that phrase had never met Anthony DiNozzo.

"Kill us and two federal agencies will chase you into hell," Gibbs growled.

"I wouldn't be so certain," Botha replied. "We have friends who will ensure our safe passage."

"So do they," Fornell's voice sounded from behind, as a dozen men entered the clearing with their weapons trained on the South Africans. "Drop your weapons and put your hands where we can see them. _Do it now!"_

Botha released his grip on the gun pressed to Tony's temple and it fell to the ground with a heavy thud. The younger man closed his eyes and his body slumped in relief. After a moment, he met Gibbs' gaze and, without needing to say a word, his eyes revealed his exhaustion and pleaded to go home.

Hearing the silent plea, Gibbs nodded his head.

"Let's go home."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

A/N We hope you enjoyed that chapter. One more to go to wrap it all up. Thanks, so much, for your overwhelming support - we hope you'll join us for the conclusion of The Insider.

Lyn and Laine.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** We do not own the characters mentioned herein and any copyright infringement is unintentional.

A/N We hope you enjoy this extra long final chapter of The Insider. Thanks for reading. L & L

**THE INSIDER**

**Chapter Ten**

The clearing became a hive of activity as the NCIS agents took the Botha's and Sorensen into custody and read them their rights. Standing off to the side Fornell looked at Sorenson in disbelief. He'd known of Sorenson's involvement from the moment the Navy crew chief told him the State Troopers had found his car but part of him had refused to believe it. He thought he knew this kid, he'd worked him, he'd trained him – hell, he had even travelled in the ambulance when the kid had been shot in the shoulder last month. Learning that Sorenson was actually Jacques Botha's son was like being kicked in the guts. He averted his gaze, suddenly sickened by the sight of the young man and looked around the clearing.

The Navy medics had set up a makeshift triage area and were treating the two injured agents. DiNozzo hissed loudly as a sterile dressing was applied to his arm, his ribcage had been strapped firmly. The dark smudges under his eyes and the bruises on his cheek and jaw stood out in gruesome contrast on the too pale skin and Fornell realised that only the younger man's considerable will was holding him together. Sensing he was being watched, Tony turned his weary gaze toward Fornell and smiled grimly, a ghost of his usual good humour.

"Still making friends with that winning personality, DiNozzo," Fornell said casually, giving the younger man's uninjured shoulder a quick squeeze as he walked by.

Several feet away, another medic was applying a temporary splint to Gibbs' injured leg. The lead agent's face was a mixed pallet of colours and his eyes shone with the effects of a slight concussion. Misplaced guilt over the FBI's involvement disturbed Fornell to the point of nausea. Van Borough was dead and these two NCIS agents had barely escaped with their lives – an FBI agent, _his_ agent, was at the heart of it all.

"Tobias?" Gibbs asked, noticing the other man looked unusually rattled. "You okay?"

"Fine," his friend lied. "It's been a hell of a week."

Balboa approached holding Tony's backpack aloft.

"Found it, Gibbs, just where you said it would be," he said, handing the pack to Fornell. "Miller's team is ready to escort the prisoners back to the road where the State Troopers are waiting to transport them back to the Navy yard. The rangers will accompany my team to retrieve the bodies of de Beers, Kruger and van Borough. We'll see you back in DC."

As Miller's team assisted the handcuffed prisoners to their feet and directed them toward the trail, Tony pushed aside his exhaustion and moved to block Morne's path.

"Looks like the yo-yo turned out to be lucky after all." Tony said, "but not for you." His lips pulled back in a forced smile, exposing an impressive row of perfect white teeth. "Never, _ever_, mess with a 1982 limited edition Scooby Doo junior champ yo-yo."

Fornell and the medics walked back slowly with Tony and Gibbs trailing behind. While both men had washed down a couple of painkillers, they had steadfastly refused to be winched out of the forest by helicopter or carried out by stretcher. Stubbornly, they set off on the quarter mile walk to a overrun trail where rangers had managed to drive an all-terrain 4x4 that would take them to the Navy Sea Knight. Tobias looked back and shook his head as Gibbs and Tony followed slowly behind, leaning on each other in a way that made Fornell wonder who was supporting whom...

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Once safely aboard the Sea Knight, obstinacy had given way to exhaustion and, under the watchful supervision of his boss and the medics, Tony had slept soundly until their arrival at Bethesda Naval Hospital. X-rays, CT's and surgeries were hastily scheduled for both agents – arthroscopic knee surgery to repair Gibbs' torn cartilage, while Tony underwent surgery to repair the muscle and bicep tendon torn up by the bullet.

Gibbs had also suffered a painful but superficial stab wound to his right side that required stitches, a broken finger, a slight concussion and bruising to his face. He was still trying to shake off the residual fuzziness from the anaesthesia when the gurney transporting his agent from the recovery room was wheeled back into their shared room. After being reassured by the doctors that the surgery went well and Tony would most likely sleep until morning, the former Marine settled down for the night.

The following day, the extent of the younger man's exhaustion became even more apparent when Tony slept through morning rounds, breakfast and lunch. Keen to leave the hospital, Gibbs showered, dressed, secured the leg brace and reluctantly used the despised cane to hobble down the corridor to sign his discharge papers and collect his aftercare instructions. He was making his way slowly back to his room when he spotted Ducky and Abby waiting outside the closed door.

"Duck?"

"There you are, Jethro," Ducky said cordially as Abby quickly closed in to wrap Gibbs in a gentle embrace. "Should you be up and around so soon?"

"Why is the door closed? What's wrong?" Gibbs asked with thinly disguised concern.

"Everything is fine," Ducky assured him. "It appears our young man has finally awoken and his doctor is checking him for signs of post-surgical complications. I'm sure they'll be out directly."

Gibbs breathed a sigh of relief.

"Look at you!" Abby exclaimed, placing her hand gently on his still tender jaw. "You're all bruised and beaten and…and…"

"I'm fine, Abs," he said reassuringly, kissing her cheek. "We're both fine."

"I must say you do look exhausted," Ducky continued, taking hold of Gibbs' elbow and leading him to the nearby row of plastic chairs. "Come…sit down. I'm quite sure your doctor would not want you on your feet for too long!"

"I've been discharged, Duck," Gibbs said. "Could use a lift back to the office though."

"Discharged? Already?" the doctor's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Jethro, _please_ tell me that you did not sign yourself out AMA again!"

"Just came back to check on Tony before I called a cab."

"Really, Jethro, this kind of stubborn, foolish behaviour is not setting a good example for Anthony," Ducky admonished. "It will be hard enough keeping him here without you waltzing out the door."

Gibbs tapped his leg brace with his cane. "I'm not waltzing, Duck."

"You know very well what I mean! That young man would walk through fire if he thought that's what you expected of him."

"That mean you won't give me a lift?"

"I can take you," Abby said, still clinging to his arm like a limpet. "I have my hearse parked right outside."

"Not my preferred mode of transport, Abs, but I'll take it, thanks."

"You can sit upfront with me," Abby said. "That is, unless you think you'd be more comfortable in the coffin."

"Front seat's fine, Abs."

The door opened and Tony's doctor and a nurse stepped out, reassuring them that Tony was going to be fine. Gibbs watched as Ducky and Abby both fussed over his young partner. Although he squirmed and duly protested, Gibbs could tell that Tony enjoyed the added attention and the show of genuine affection. He realized, not for the first time, that he wasn't the only one whose protective instincts came to the fore where Tony was concerned.

"Boss?" Tony said with a confused frown. "You're dressed?"

"There are laws against walking around town without any clothes, DiNozzo."

"You're leaving?"

"Yep, just signed my papers. Abby's giving me a ride back to the office," he said. "There's reports and paperwork to be done and Ab's is still trying to access van Borough's records."

"What about me?" Tony asked.

"What about you?"

"I'm coming too!"

"Out of the question," Ducky interjected. "Jethro may have chosen to ignore sound medical advice but your doctor wants you in here for two more days!"

"Two days?" Tony repeated. "Come on, Ducky, I'm fine!"

_"Poppycock!" _Ducky blustered as Tony and Abby exchanged surprised glances and both silently mouthed the odd expression.

"Anthony, one only has to look at you to know that you certainly are _not_ fine. You have three broken ribs, a bullet wound in your left bicep that required surgery to repair the muscle, your body is a mess of bruises and contusions, and you have a chest infection and a slight fever!"

"Well, yeah…it sounds bad when you say it like_ that_," Tony admitted reluctantly.

"It sounds bad, my boy, because it _is_ bad. Your body's exhausted, Anthony, it needs to heal. Why, I'd be very surprised if you could manage to drag yourself out of that bed."

Gibbs grimaced. For a brief moment he thought Ducky was getting the upper hand in this argument…that was until he unwittingly set Tony a challenge that the younger man was far too obstinate and bloody-minded to ignore.

He watched as Tony set his jaw and tentatively climbed out of bed. One hand firmly supporting broken ribs swathed in heavy bandages, while his left arm was secured firmly to his body to prevent unnecessary movement. Almost every visible point of his long arms and legs was mottled with angry red abrasions or purple and black bruises and his throat bore the ghastly reminders of how close de Beers had come to choking him. Gritting his teeth, he slowly raised himself to his full height. The effort produced a thin sheen of perspiration on the young man's face but, wearing a thin hospital gown and a smug "I told you so" smile, he looked the exasperated doctor in the eye.

"Jethro, _please,_ you talk to him!" Ducky pleaded.

Gibbs looked at Ducky and shrugged, the gesture clearly saying, 'you try and stop him!'

The ME started to protest again when he noticed something pass between the two younger men. It was a look, a silent communication that spoke of pride and a mutual need to see this case through to completion. These two men shared something intangible that even the well-educated and well-travelled doctor failed to fully understand. As Tony raised his eyebrows in question, Gibbs nodded as if the thought had been spoken aloud and Ducky knew his cause was lost.

"You're not going anywhere with your ass hanging out," Gibbs said, holding back a grin. "I'll go get your discharge papers, Ducky and Abs will help you get dressed."

The elderly doctor sighed in resignation then he and Abby stepped forward obligingly as Gibbs hobbled toward the door.

"Ah...no offence, guys, but I think I can manage this by myself," Tony stated.

"Nonsense, my boy, your doctor was very clear that he did not want you moving that arm for several more days. If you're determined to leave this facility against his advice, the very least you can do is to allow us to assist you."

"Er…then, maybe I should just call for a nurse," Tony said squirming uncharacteristically.

"There's no need to trouble the nursing staff," Ducky insisted. "I am more than qualified to assist you without exacerbating your injuries and with Abigail's help, we'll have you ready in no time. Come on, let's get you out of this dreadfully unflattering gown."

"NO!" Tony exclaimed, startling the ME with his unexpected reaction and stopping Abby in her tracks.

"DiNozzo?" Gibbs called from the doorway, his voice laced with concern.

"Whatever's the matter, Anthony?" Ducky queried.

"Is something wrong, Tony? Are you in pain?" Abby asked anxiously.

Clearly uncomfortable with the situation, Tony shuffled his feet as a rare blush stained his cheeks.

"I...ah...I," he stammered nervously before rolling his eyes and blurting in one quick breath. "I'm not wearing any shorts under here, okay? I'm buck naked, full blown commando, dangling in the wind, wearing the emperor's new clothes, going the full monty, au naturel!"

This time, Gibbs didn't bother holding back his grin at his partner's dilemma and surprising modesty.

"Is _that_ all that's worrying you? Come now, Anthony, I have been the chief medical examiner for NCIS for a number of years now. I can assure you that I've seen more than my fair share of privates," Ducky chuckled at his own joke.

After a moment's thought and with a reluctant nod of his head, Tony acquiesced and Ducky moved to untie the back of the hospital gown when the young man baulked again!

"Boss!" he pleaded as he nodded his head pointedly in Abby's direction.

Gibbs took pity on his agent and turned to the forensic scientist. "Abs?"

"Yes, Gibbs?" Abby said with wide-eyed innocence.

"You wanna help me with the paperwork?"

"No, I'm good...I'll just wait here," she replied, taking a seat in the corner of the room.

"Boss!"

"Abs?" Gibbs said more insistently.

Abby sighed dramatically, reluctantly got to her feet and preceded Gibbs out the door. Her words of protest floated back to the room.

"Sheesh, who would have thought Tony would be so bashful?"

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Morrow's secretary ducked quickly into the director's office when she saw Gibbs hobble from the elevator. Holding the door open, she smiled sympathetically.

"Glad to have you back, Agent Gibbs. The director is expecting you."

The senior agent nodded his thanks and entered the office as the door closed behind him.

"Gibbs, I heard you and DiNozzo were back," Morrow said gesturing for his agent to sit down. "I was led to believe you'd be in the hospital for another few days."

"Still work to be done, Sir, the case isn't closed yet."

"The reports can wait a few days. I would have arranged for Balboa to take your statements at the hospital," Morrow stated. "We have the Bothas and Sorensen on a slew of charges including the attempted murder of two federal agents. They'll be going away for a long time."

"We still need to know who Botha was selling the weapons to. Whether the buyers were domestic or international? What about Alvaretti? He's due for parole in a few months. Van Borough said he had enough on him to put him away for Pattison's murder."

"The Alvaretti case is an FBI matter," Morrow stated. "As far as I'm aware, Ms Scuito is still attempting to access van Borough's records. We don't know for certain, whether he was telling the truth."

"Whatever's on that microchip, Botha was damn keen to get his hands on it."

"I've given Ms Scuito until the end of business today to work on the microchip, after that, it will be sent to our Cyber Specialist unit."

"Understood," Gibbs said, struggling to his feet.

"One more thing," the director said, stopping his agent's departure. "I think it's time you had a new partner."

"I've got a partner!" Gibbs replied indignantly.

"Take it easy, what I meant to say was when you come back from medical leave, you and DiNozzo are going to need more help."

Morrow slid a file across his desk and watched as Gibbs picked it up and scanned the summary page.

"Her name's Vivian Blackadder. She's former FBI, comes highly recommended," Morrow said.

"If it's all the same to you, Sir, I think we've had about all the contact with the FBI we can stand. Why the transfer to NCIS?"

"Her brother was killed serving on board the Cole. She wants to help prevent that type of thing from happening again. We've spoken before about increasing the size of your team. DiNozzo's a good man but there's more work than you can handle. You need the help."

"Yes, Sir."

"Get those reports done and get yourselves home before I have to answer to an irate medical examiner. I've been avoiding his calls and he's likely to come pounding on my door any minute," Morrow said with the hint of a smile. "And Gibbs….well done."

"Thank you, Sir."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Having hunted and pecked his report with his one good hand, Tony signed the printed document and left it in Gibbs' in box. He was exhausted and the return of the throbbing pain in his arm and ribs told him his next dose of meds was due. He took the elevator to the forensics lab and looked longingly at the futon the scientist kept under her work counter - he wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep for a week but there was still work to be done. Stubbornly pushing his exhaustion aside, he watched as Abby desperately tried to access van Borough's records on the microchip. Her brilliant mind worked furiously behind her green eyes and she was determined to show those stuck up guys from the Cyber Unit that you didn't need a degree from MIT to know your way around computers.

With Abby focussed intently on her work, Tony attempted to stave off the tedium by looking at the intricate equipment – the uses of which were all totally foreign to him. He looked furtively over both shoulders like a spy in a bad movie then he tentatively reached a long finger toward the enticing blue button on the gas chromatograph.

"Don't touch that!" Abby said from the other side of the lab as Tony whipped his hand behind his back.

"I didn't!" he replied, frowning as he wondered how she'd seen him.

The flashing lights on the mass spectrometer caught his eye and he moved in that direction. Making sure Abby's attention was elsewhere he cautiously reached out another curious finger.

"Or that!" Abby said, as Tony looked at his guilty fingers as if they had acted of their own accord.

Sighing in frustration and boredom, Tony spied the Scanning Electron Microscope on the opposite side of the room.

"And _especially_ not that!" Abby said, still without turning her head in his direction.

"You been taking Gibbs lessons, Abs, 'cause one Gibbs is about all I can handle."

"That right, DiNozzo?" Gibbs said as he hobbled into the lab.

"That's right, Boss," Tony sprouted fervently. "Because everyone knows there could only _ever _be _one _Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Did I mention you look great with the cane? The chicks will go nuts for the cane."

Noting his agent's pallor and the return of the fine pain lines, Gibbs placed a stool in front of the younger man.

"Sit down and shut up," he said without any heat.

"Sitting down and shutting up, Boss," Tony replied, grateful to be off his feet.

Gibbs' eyebrows arched when Abby placed another stool in front of him.

"You too, Bossman," she ordered. "Er…I mean the sit down part, not the...er...shut up…part."

"Any luck with the microchip, Abs?"

Abby's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm and a new-found respect for the recently deceased owner of the microchip.

"I'm telling you, Gibbs, this van Borough guy was _brilliant_. He was like the guru of geeks, the dean of dorks, top of the techies."

"No wonder that condom never saw any action," Tony quipped then gave a startled yelp as Gibbs landed a glancing head slap.

"Ow!"

"Did I hurt you?" the team leader asked.

"As a matter of fact, you did," Tony replied rubbing his head.

"Good!" Gibbs said with a satisfied nod of his head.

Rushing to his side, Abby gently wrapped her arms around Tony and pulled him protectively to her.

"Gibbs how could you? Tony has been injured in the line of duty," she scolded before adding in Pig Latin. "Topsay with the eadslapshay!"

Tony nuzzled against her and smiled smugly at his boss.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and asked again. "Abs, the microchip?"

"Oh, right…the contents of the microchip are, like, totally protected by a sophisticated security protocol. It changes its own access password every ten minutes. If you key in the wrong password twice, the program locks you out for 4 hours."

"Van Borough said that the microchip contained enough evidence to put the Botha's and Alvaretti away for life," Gibbs stated.

"I'm sure he's right, I just haven't been able to get past the security protocol yet. Watch this…" she said pointing to the plasma screen.

Placing the chip in a standard flash drive and using the USB port in her computer the microchip generated a page of numbers.

"Looks like random numbers," Tony said. "Any idea what they are, Abs?"

"Yes…they're random numbers," Abby replied.

"And people say I don't know computers," Tony deadpanned as Gibbs positioned himself to take another swat.

"Gibbs!" Abby admonished, waving a slender finger in his direction. "No head slaps."

Gibbs dropped his arm to his side, impaling his agent with a glare and receiving a mega-watt smile in return as Abby continued with her explanation.

"I've been running code breaker applications and looking for patterns but I haven't found anything to suggest that this is anything _but_ random numbers. To make things more difficult, the security protocol kicks in and provides a whole new set of numbers every ten minutes. Believe me…spending almost twenty-four hours trying to make sense of a bunch of numbers can cause serious eyestrain."

"That's it!" Tony exclaimed.

"What's it?" Abby asked.

"Serious eyestrain."

"Okay, Tony, I know you're probably not feeling too well at the moment but you've only been looking at that screen for like, two minutes. It's way too early for you to have eyestrain." She turned quickly to Gibbs. "This is why you _really_ should stop hitting him in the head."

"You got something, Tony?" the lead agent asked, reading the younger man's tense body language.

Tony cast his mind back to the mountain cabin when he'd mistakenly picked up van Borough's glasses case, only to have the accountant snatch it from his grasp. Then, later at the car wreck, van Borough insisted he needed his glasses.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs snapped, the concern not quite hidden by the gruffness.

"The glasses, Boss, van Borough insisted that he needed his glasses."

"So?"

"So…did you actually see him wear them?"

Gibbs' eyes narrowed in thought then widened as realisation occurred and he and Tony exchanged a hopeful glance.

"Abs, you find van Borough's glasses when you catalogued the evidence in the backpack?" Gibbs asked.

"I did," Abby replied with a frown. "But what…?"

Gibbs hobbled toward the back of the lab and found the glasses securely fastened in an evidence bag. Mindful of maintaining the chain of evidence, he dutifully signed the appropriate document attached to the nearby clipboard and re-joined the others.

"Your idea…wanna do the honours?" he asked Tony.

"Nah…ladies first," he said handing the case to Abby.

Abby looked from one to the other before slowly placing the glasses on her face. Her eyes sprung open in astonishment, as a series of non-sequential numbers appeared to change colour and stand out prominently from the others.

"Oh my God! This is, like, totally amazing!" she squealed as she quickly jotted the numbers down and then keyed them into her computer.

"It's very James Bond," Tony said in his best Sean Connery impression.

They watched as the password accepted and allowed access to Horst van Borough's meticulously maintained files where there was enough incriminating evidence to ensure the Botha's, Sorenson and Alvaretti were jailed for a very long time. The names and financial details of one domestic and four international terrorist organizations Botha had been dealing with, were provided to Homeland Security while a prominent CIA operative was about to having his career abruptly cut short and his mail re-routed to a federal penitentiary.

Gibbs placed a gentle kiss on Abby's pale cheek.

"Good job, Abs," he whispered.

"Hey!" Tony exclaimed. "You know I take great pride in my reputation as a team player but that _was_ my idea!"

The young man flinched as Gibbs postured to take another swipe at the back of his head and stopped just inches from impact. The grimace transformed to a look of surprise and then a nervous smile as Gibbs stroked the back of his head.

"Atta boy."

As he turned to leave the lab, Gibbs didn't miss the tired smile as his agent preened with the compliment.

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

"Really, Jethro, your doctor specifically told you that you were supposed to be using a cane to take some of the weight off your leg," Ducky admonished as Gibbs limped into the autopsy room.

"Lent it to DiNozzo. He said something about needing to deliver a report to the secretarial pool."

"Well, that _is_ quite perculiar! Anthony suffered some bruising and lacerations to his legs but nothing serious enough to require the assistance of a cane," Ducky puzzled.

"He's testing his 'chicks go nuts for canes' theory," Gibbs replied with a wry grin. "Told me he's collecting information for science."

"Collecting phone numbers for his already over populated little black book is more likely!" Ducky muttered, shaking his head in mock disgust. "Perhaps his contribution to science would have been better served by staying in the hospital. And don't think you're off the hook for encouraging him to discharge himself! At the very least you should both be resting at home."

"We're headed home as soon as we can hitch a ride," Gibbs stated looking at Horst van Borough's body lying on the autopsy table. "What's the verdict?"

"Well, I'm not quite finished but it appears our Mr van Borough died from severe internal bleeding. I found a large tear in his spleen and his liver," Ducky told him. "There really was nothing you could have done to save him."

Gibbs nodded his head wearily.

"There's something else," Ducky said, gesturing toward the row of x-ray light boxes. "Something that may explain why van Borough had a change of heart and decided to assist you."

Gibbs looked at the image on the light box. "That his liver?"

"Yes, grotesquely enlarged, I'm afraid, due to what's known as hepatocellular carcinoma."

"Liver cancer."

"Yes, and while he wasn't quite end stage, the tumour was almost certainly inoperable."

"Van Borough was dying," Gibbs stated.

"Yes, Jethro. By my estimate he had, at best, six months to live. Perhaps he wanted a clean slate before he went to meet his maker," Ducky speculated. "Now, why don't you leave me to take care of my patient and go take care of yourself? I presume your young protégé will be staying with you?"

"For a few days. We're both on med leave, may as well keep an eye on him."

"And who will be keeping an eye on you, my friend, hmm?" Ducky chuckled. "Off you go, you both have a lot of healing to do. In fact, I can spare Gerald for an hour or so - I'm sure he won't mind driving you home, will you Gerald? Gerald?"

Looking around casually, Gerald startled when he noticed both Ducky and Gibbs looking in his direction. He quickly pulled the ear buds of his radio from his ears.

"Sorry doctor, did you say something?" the ME assistant Asked. "The Redskins are playing the Lions in overtime."

Ducky turned to Gibbs and rolled his eyes.

"Do you think it's too late for me to start head slapping?"

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

Gibbs was bored. He was never one for watching television and despite Tony's enthusiastic recommendation, his running commentary and wealth of movie trivia, Gibbs decided that an evening with Spencer Tracey and Katharine Hepburn just wasn't his thing. He'd switched the TV off the moment Tony's soft snores began.

'_Thank God for strong painkillers_,' he thought, looking at the lanky body draped boneless over his couch.

The young man's bruised face was finally relaxed, the pain lines not so evident. Even as he slept he held his left arm protectively across his damaged ribcage. His head was canted at an angle guaranteed to result in a stiff neck but Gibbs would rather bear the griping than disturb the healing sleep.

He'd promised Ducky that he'd wait a few days before subjecting his injured knee to the stairs to his basement. Cut off from the calming effect of his boat building Gibbs was agitated and found it difficult to wind down. He flicked absently through his woodworking and boating magazines before his own painkillers kicked in and he dozed lightly in the comfortable, over stuffed armchair.

He woke to the sound of a car entering his driveway. Struggling to his feet and grimacing as the stitches in his side pulled painfully, he hobbled to the door to intercept his visitor before they woke Tony. He was not surprised to see Fornell at his door, looking old and tired. With a nod toward his agent, still sleeping soundly on the couch, he gestured for Fornell to enter the living room.

"He looks uncomfortable. You should wake him," Fornell whispered.

"You ever spent time with DiNozzo on painkillers?" Gibbs replied. "Believe me, this is better for all of us."

"He's gonna have a crick in his neck from sleeping like that," Fornell stated.

"Sounds like the voice of experience," Gibbs looked at his old friend. "You join the couch club, Tobias?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"I've got three ex-wives – I've slept on my share of couches."

Fornell allowed a small smile and changed the topic.

"Shouldn't he still be in the hospital?"

"He'll get more rest here - no pretty nurses to distract him. Besides, when he wakes up, I'm gonna kick his ass."

The FBI agent followed Gibbs into the kitchen.

"The way I heard it, the kid did a great job," Fornell added.

"It's not what he did, it's how he did it – he still has a lot to learn," Gibbs reached for the coffee pot and then stopped to ask. "You want something stronger than coffee?"

"_Nothing's_ stronger than your coffee, Gibbs."

Taking a seat on the back deck, Fornell explained that he had been to the NCIS lock up and spoken with Sorenson.

"Barely recognised him," he said on reflection. "He was withdrawn, broken…"

"He tell you anything?"

"From what we can gather, when the CIA arranged new identities and travel docs for Jacques and Morne' Botha, a senior CIA operative was paid a substantial amount of money to arrange a different identity and US citizenship for Sorenson."

"You think they planned to have Sorenson infiltrate a federal agency from the start?"

"Nobody's admitting to it but it wouldn't surprise me," Fornell replied. "The kid spent years in a boarding school in Vermont, without any family interaction. Studied hard, graduated college and then, at his father's bidding, successfully applied for a position in the FBI. Botha had planned the kid's entire life. He made sure he had everything he needed - the only thing he didn't give him was the security and support of a family."

"The kid could've told his old man to take a hike," Gibbs noted.

"Do you know what kind of guts it takes for a kid to stand up to his father and then have to make his own way in the world?"

Gibbs glanced back into the living room, where his agent was still sleeping.

"Yep, I think I do," he said softly. "You talk to Warren yet?"

Fornell nodded wearily.

"What a mess! His wife left him - took the kids and went to live with her mother in Chicago. He's been suspended for two weeks pending an official investigation into his misconduct with a former FBI witness. I just don't understand why he didn't come to me! I could've helped him, Jethro, I _would've _helped him."

Gibbs shrugged a shoulder. "He values your opinion of him. Didn't want to disappoint you."

Fornell scrubbed his hands across tired eyes. "And now his life's a damn mess all because of some crazy woman who wouldn't take no for an answer."

"We've both been there," Gibbs joked.

"If you're talking about Diane, I'm _still_ there!" Fornell said with a quick grin.

"Then maybe next time you'll listen to me!"

The FBI agent's expression sobered again. "You know…you think you're a good agent, a good boss and something like this happens right under your nose."

"Maybe Warren needs a friend right now, more than he needs a boss," Gibbs suggested.

Fornell studied his friend for a moment. "Is that why sleeping beauty's passed out on your couch?" he asked.

Gibbs' small smile was his only reply.

Rising to his feet, Fornell returned the empty coffee mugs to the kitchen while Gibbs followed along at a more comfortable pace.

"Want me to thaw another steak," Gibbs asked.

"Nah," Fornell said. "Think I'll pick up some take-out and a six-pack and swing by Warren's house."

Reaching to open the front door Fornell stopped suddenly and cocked a thumb in Tony's direction.

"He's a pain in the ass," he said with a wry grin. "But he's a keeper."

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

After a simple dinner, they carried their coffee out on the back deck to enjoy the cool of the evening. Gibbs bided his time, waiting for Tony's evening meds to kick in. He wanted the younger man mellow enough to talk but alert enough not to be at a disadvantage. He'd seen, too many times, the affect pain medication had on his agent and knew his timing had to be perfect – too soon and DiNozzo would clam up tight – wait too long and he'd fall asleep or take you on a journey to the cuckoo's nest.

Despite their eighteen-month partnership, there was still much he didn't know about his agent. Tony showed the world only what he wanted it to see but Gibbs knew right from the start that there was so much more. He had always respected the barriers that the younger man had placed around certain areas of his life, just as Tony had always respected his. Rare fleeting glimpses of private feelings and past pain had been revealed when alcohol flowed too freely or pain medication wrong-footed the sentinel protecting them from unwanted intruders.

But this was different – this was a work related matter – this was life and death. Gibbs was desperate to understand Tony's motivation. Was it recklessness or blind heroics? There'd been other times when the younger man had put his life on the line to save a colleague or an innocent party, but yesterday, with no clear means of escape or rescue available, his seriously injured junior partner had purposely placed himself in the firing line. Gibbs needed to know why…he needed to understand what prompted the younger man's decision. Never one for wasting words, he decided to dive right in.

"You wanna tell me why you did that?"

"Boss?" Tony said, caught off guard by the unexpected question.

"I want to know why you baited Morne' Botha like that? You had to know he was gunning for you."

"He broke my yo-yo," Tony said, reverting to humour to avoid the uncomfortable line of questioning.

"Dammit, DiNozzo, I'm serious here!" Gibbs snapped. "What you did was reckless and dangerous. You and I both know that you're better than that. I need you to tell me what you were thinking?"

Tony squirmed uncomfortably in his seat for several long minutes. Obviously embarrassed, he averted his eyes and took several steadying breaths before he responded softly.

"I was thinking…" he stopped to clear his throat. "I was thinking that you'd just taken a hell of a beating. I was trying to…"

"You were trying to protect me," Gibbs growled, unsuccessfully suppressing his anger. "You pissed off Morne' so they'd leave me alone and focus on you! Of all the boneheaded…"

Tony's features hardened and his voice took on a rare heated edge. "Come on, Gibbs! Are you really trying to tell me that you wouldn't have done the same?"

"I'm the senior partner – it's my job to protect you not the other way around."

He watched as Tony's face ran through a gamut of emotions; irritation, anger, frustration.

"All due respect, Boss, but that's a crock of shit and you know it."

The team leader raised his eyebrows at the insubordination but inwardly admired Tony's willingness to speak candidly.

"I understand that you're the senior partner and I have never questioned that. But you and I have played enough ball to know that when the opposing team takes out your captain, someone else has to step up and call the plays."

Gibbs released a long-suffering sigh and replied calmly.

"This isn't football, Tony. They had a gun to your head and they would have used it. Did you even _think_ about what would have happened if the others hadn't arrived when they did?"

A moment passed before the young man confidently replied.

"You'd have thought of something, Boss."

His words were jovial and his smile was wide but the belief in his eyes told of an unconditional trust that Gibbs had never before experienced.

"It's part of the job," Tony said with rare intent. "It's what you do for your partner."

Gibbs paused in thought then shook his head and allowed a small grin to play on his lips. He lifted his coffee mug into the air and Tony replied in kind, clinking the mugs together in a toast.

"You got that right," Gibbs said quietly.

They sat in companionable silence for several more minutes until Tony's yawns started to arrive one after the other in quick succession.

"Hit the rack," Gibbs told him. "See you in the morning."

"Night, Boss."

Gibbs watched as the younger man climbed painfully to his feet and walked slowly back into the house. He carded callused fingers through his short hair and took another long draught of his coffee. Yes, he would have preferred that DiNozzo had gone for help. He could have made it to high ground and signalled the helicopter for assistance. Gibbs huffed out a laugh and doubted that the thought had even entered Tony's mind.

Injured and unarmed, his young agent had chosen to go back for him, regardless of the danger. Tony's response of 'it's what you do for your partner,' resonated in Gibbs' mind and sounded very like a cop's version of 'no one gets left behind.'

"Would have made a hell of a Marine," Gibbs muttered.

Although he'd smoothed off a lot of the rough edges, the younger man was still prone to moments of impulsive recklessness. Acting or reacting without heed to his own safety. As much as he had tried to break him of that particular habit, Gibbs knew that it was intrinsically DiNozzo.

Tony had undertaken a steep learning curve since joining NCIS and he had taken everything Gibbs had dished out to him – more often than not, coming back for more. The positives far outweighed the negatives despite the fact that Gibbs had no doubt DiNozzo was solely responsible for the rapidly increasing amount of silver in his hair. Gibbs had never made a habit of putting his emotions on display but he felt his chest fill with pride as he remembered Fornell's earlier endorsement of his young agent.

"Yep," he agreed softly. "He's a keeper."

**THE END**

**0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0`0~0~0`0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0**

A/N Sincere thanks for your wonderful support and encouragement. Every review and alert was most gratefully accepted. Although we tried to respond to everyone, there were many anonymous reviews that we were unable to answer personally and we thank you, too. We hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as we enjoyed writing it.

Until next time, with every good wish,

Lyn and Laine


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